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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979379">Expecto Patronum!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofSpells/pseuds/BookofSpells'>BookofSpells</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(not heavy), Action/Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Teddy Lupin, Brotherly Affection, But not as Dark as the Tags Imply, Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, Family Dynamics, HP Next Gen Fest 2020, Harry Potter Next Generation, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Memory Charm | Obliviate (Harry Potter), Memory Loss, Memory Magic, Metamorphmagus, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter, Minor Teddy/OFC, Muggle Life, Muggle London, Mystery, Nightmares, POV Alternating, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), Presumed Dead, Pub Owner James Potter, Romance, Scorbus, Trauma, Trauma Recovery, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics (OCs), jeddy, plenty of angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:29:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>45,735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979379</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofSpells/pseuds/BookofSpells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>James Potter had always known exactly what he wanted; to open a pub of his own, maybe travel the world, and live a simple life with the only man he’d ever loved. For years he waited, quietly determined to help Teddy see what could be between them. But just when everything he’d ever dreamed of was finally within his reach, it was ripped away in an instant. With Teddy missing, and presumed dead, James is left to pick up the pieces.</p><p>John has no idea what he wants. He doesn’t even know who he is. But when he hears a strikingly familiar voice – on an otherwise ordinary day –  he sets out to discover everything he can about the man that occupies his dreams.</p><p>And Harry, well, Harry just wants to put his failures behind him. Until a series of unexpected events forces him to reexamine a case that he’d given up on solving. With the help of an unexpected ally, he just might find the answers he’s been looking for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeddy - Relationship, Teddy Lupin/James Sirius Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Next Gen Fest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally intended to be a part of the <a href="https://hp-nextgen-fest.tumblr.com/">2019 Next-Gen Fest</a>. Unfortunately, life got in the way. By the official deadline, I was only about 1000 words away from completion and I couldn’t just let all that hard work go to waste. Especially the countless hours my Beta Readers put into it.</p><p>To the mods that were so patient with me (<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracerene/pseuds/gracerene">gracerene</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini">shiftylinguini</a>), who allowed me to submit it now, I thank you for hosting the fest and beg your forgiveness for not making it happen in time last year. To shiftylinguini, I really hope that I did your wonderful prompt justice. I definitely went off the rails a bit.<br/>Prompt S43 - 2019: Teddy disappeared (suspected dead) after an Auror mission. James never got over it, and keeps seeing him everywhere, which those around him think is a form of grief, but James is convinced it’s real. Teddy, however, is actually alive and well, but has lost all ability to use magic, and all memory of everything before he woke up and was rehabilitated in a Muggle hospital (or something lol). He has also been following James, who lives in combined wizard/Muggle part of London; while he doesn't remember him, James feels overwhelmingly familiar, and Teddy can't stop himself from following him.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b> Prologue </b>
  </p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Teddy</b>
  </p>
</div>Teddy stopped short at the end of an overgrown path and gazed apprehensively at the crumbling 18th century manor house towering before him.<p>The Ménage of Macmillan—as it had once been known—stood high atop Stoatshead Hill, overlooking the sleepy town of Ottery St Catchpole. </p><p>The estate, which had once housed one of the most notable pure-blood wizarding families in Britain, had been left to ruin decades ago. Now, heavily boarded windows, weather-darkened brick, and overgrown vegetation had all but swallowed the house into the surrounding forest. It emitted an ominous, unsettling feeling; which Teddy suspected was the result of decades of dark magic practiced within the decaying walls.</p><p>With a heavy sigh, Teddy pulled his wand from the pocket of his Auror robes and began reciting off a series of standard detection spells; <i>Homenum revelio, Kaproun, Finite Incantatem…</i></p><p><i>Clear</i>, Teddy thought, lowering his wand with a tinge of irritation… <i>just as he’d suspected it would be</i>. Under his breath, he cursed his godfather for sending him and his partner on such a fruitless mission.</p><p>To be fair, it wasn’t entirely Harry’s fault. It was standard protocol, after all. A short burst of magic had been detected within the vicinity a few hours earlier, and someone had to be sent out to investigate the disturbance. Still, he wasn’t too pleased that <i>he</i> had to be that someone… today of all days.</p><p>It was common knowledge that the magical (and Muggle) teenagers in the area got a thrill from daring one another to break into the supposedly ‘haunted’ house. They considered it a challenge—a rite of passage, even—and the perpetrators were almost certainly long gone by now; too scared of the creepy old manor to stick around for more than a couple of minutes. The chances of any real excitement were slim to none. True criminals weren’t foolish enough to go near a place that was so heavily monitored by the Ministry.</p><p>Teddy’s partner, Marion, went in through the back garden, shoving the overgrown gate to one side. Once she cleared the area, she would send gold sparks into the air. After that, all they needed to do was place new wards on the door and they could be on their way. Teddy absently dug the heel of his boot into the gravel as he waited for her signal. She would be quick, eager as always to get home to her ailing son. No one could understand why she didn’t just take some extra time off, but Teddy didn’t ask. He didn’t like to think too much about it.</p><p>He looked up at the crumbling staircase, unsure if anyone could get up there without falling through. The infrastructure was completely dilapidated. Teddy fiddled with his wand and walked over to the wall to examine the vines growing up the inside.</p><p>Normally, Teddy loved field work, including the uneventful, routine calls such as this. It was an integral part of the job. But today, the only thing he wanted to do was get home to his flat as soon as possible and wait for Jamie.</p><p>
  <i>Jamie.</i>
</p><p>Teddy breathed low and deep to steady himself. He was practically vibrating out of his skin with anticipation and had been for days. Because tonight was… well, <i>the</i> night—hopefully.</p><p>James and Teddy had officially been dating for a month now, and tonight would be the first time that James stayed alone at Teddy’s flat.  His cock twitched eagerly at the thought, and <i>fucking hell.</i> In that moment, he felt more like a horny teenager than the twenty-seven-year-old man he was.</p><p>A chilly breeze swept through the air, blowing Teddy’s turquoise fringe into his eyes. His shoulders tensed reflexively, and he turned to scan the area around him again, finding nothing other than brightly tinged leaves dancing in the wind. The colours reminded him of Jamie’s eyes. They were hazel, with touches of green, yellow and brown.</p><p><i>Blimey. What was taking Marion so long?</i> Teddy pressed his lips together tightly as another intense wave of longing washed over him.</p><p>For years, he had denied his feelings and pushed them away. He told himself that James was too young for him, too close to family, and too full of life to be happy with a boring introvert like himself. Teddy dulled in comparison to Jamie’s vibrant light, sporadic sense of adventure, and easy charm. No matter how hard he tried to picture them together, he just couldn’t allow himself to see it.</p><p>James had no such qualms. He knew exactly what he wanted, and for some unfathomable reason, that had always been Teddy.</p><p>He was seventeen when he pulled Teddy into the loo and boldly pressed his lips against his jaw with a whispered confession. Teddy, who was twenty-three at the time—and still fresh from his recent break-up with Victoire—nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to flee the room.</p><p>Soon after, the Christmas holidays ended and Jamie had gone back to school; noticeably more downtrodden as he boarded the train than he had been getting off. Teddy had forced the incident out of his mind. It was just a silly, adolescent crush, nothing more. Jamie would be embarrassed about it later, surely.</p><p>Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) for Teddy, Jamie wasn’t embarrassed at all. In fact, he left Hogwarts with a renewed sense of determination. He was open and unapologetic; all lingering touches, cavalier smiles, and cheeky innuendos that caused Teddy to blush like a schoolboy.</p><p>It didn’t take long before the rest of the family became uncomfortably aware of James’ crush. He wasn’t at all subtle about it. Only Harry remained oblivious. At least, that was until the Potters attended the 2022 Quidditch World Cup—where James not-so casually mentioned that Oliver Wood’s arse looked ‘fit as hell’ in leathers, but it wasn’t nearly as nice as Teddy’s. Harry nearly choked on the sip of butterbeer he had just taken.</p><p>Teddy heard about <i>that</i> second-hand from Albus and Scorpius, who laughed uncontrollably as they retold the story. Teddy failed to see the humour and was unable to meet his godfather’s eyes for months.</p><p>As James aged out of his teens and into his early twenties, things slowly began to change. He was still the same, cheeky James who lit up the room with his larger than life personality, but something within him shifted. He became more tempered; more mature.</p><p>Without the constant flirting and uncomfortable advances, Teddy was able to relax around him more and more. Over time, they fell into an easy, natural friendship. James would come round with a six pack of lager and talk about his dream of taking over the Leaky Cauldron while they played silly racing games on Jamie’s console. </p><p>They’d hit the Muggle clubs and dance to obnoxiously loud music and sometimes, when there was nothing better to do, James would listen while Teddy strummed absently on his guitar; stringing together a new tune. </p><p>“When I take over the Leaky, you’ll be the first to play for open mic night,” James would insist, knowing full well that Teddy was far too shy to play in front of a crowd.</p><p>To this day, Teddy couldn’t pinpoint how, or exactly when it happened – but suddenly he started to notice things that he’d no business noticing—like the swell in Jamie’s jeans when he walked around his parents’ house with nothing else on, how nicely his body had begun to fill out, and how red his lips became when he bit down on them in concentration. </p><p>Whenever Teddy found himself noticing these types of things, he promptly buried the thoughts deep into the recesses of his mind (<i>where they bloody well belonged</i>). He and James were mates, nothing more. The fact that James had grown into an incredibly attractive man was inconsequential. Jamie was still his godbrother, still far too young for him, and most importantly, he did not deserve to be strung along while Teddy wrestled with his newly discovered feelings.</p><p>And wrestle with them, he did. He agonised over them for months. </p><p>Until one day… Harry called Teddy into his office on a random Friday afternoon. The unscheduled ‘meeting’ turned out to be a trap—consisting of a locked door, a stern look, and a statement that nearly caused Teddy to piss his pants: “I see the way you look at him, Teds.”</p><p>Teddy had been struck silent, mentally preparing himself for a stunner; or a swift kick in the arse at the very least. Instead he received the most awkward pep talk of his life (“Talk to him. Tell him how you feel,”) and the assurance that Harry and Ginny would be supportive, no matter what.</p><p>Teddy didn’t have any excuses anymore—and Merlin, he was glad for that.</p><p>A few weeks later, when Teddy finally worked up the courage to ask James out on a date, the bastard made him wait an agonising five days before tackling him to the floor in his parents sitting room with an enthusiastic kiss. “I’ve waited five years to kiss you,” he’d mused, “It seemed fair to make you wait five days.”</p><p>Teddy had been tempted to Apparate them to his flat immediately and shag the git into the mattress—Sunday roast bedamned—but this wasn’t a last call pull from a sweaty club in Soho, this was <i>Jamie</i>. So, despite the petulant protests, Teddy instituted a firm ten date rule. No sex of any kind until they’d been on at least ten dates. </p><p>Teddy had needed to be absolutely sure. They both did.</p><p>The first nine dates were perfect. It was as though nothing and everything had changed all at once. James still made Teddy’s belly ache with laughter, he was still the same enigmatic, joyful ball of energy, only now, Teddy could hold James’ hand, he could kiss his soft lips, he could stare into his eyes for as long as he wanted to. And he was sure he would want to forever.</p><p>Tonight, James was bringing over take-out, a six pack of ale, and some new superhero movie that Albus had been prattling on about. Although it wasn’t what some people would consider a real date, they were bloody counting it! Because Teddy didn’t think he could make it another day in James’ presence without—</p><p>He was startled out of his thoughts when a shower of golden sparks erupted in the distance. It was Marion signalling that the back garden had been cleared. <i>Finally</i>. All they needed to do now was reinforce the barricade on the door, so Teddy carefully made his way up the decaying stairs, using magic to steady them, and eased the door open.</p><p>It was open less than an inch before a deafening pop rang out and Teddy felt a sharp pain in his temple, the world around him going black.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>Taking the stairs two at a time, James raced up to his bedroom and flung the door open, slamming the knob into the wall with a loud <i>thud</i>. He nearly tripped over his own shoes in his haste to retrieve the overnight bag he’d packed the day prior, but he managed to recover with an awkward jig that turned into a zany, happy dance.<p>Fuck, he was happy. Happier than he could ever remember being. James had no doubt that he was going to look back at this day, and remember it as one of the best days of his life. Everything that he’d ever wanted was finally coming together; the pieces lining up evenly like a jigsaw puzzle.</p><p>After months of negotiation with Tom (<i>the conniving old codger</i>), he and James had finally come to a mutual agreement. His loan through Gringotts was secured, and as of an hour ago, James was officially the new owner of his very own pub, The Leaky Cauldron. </p><p>Nearly everyone had expected James to play Quidditch professionally, or join up with the Aurors like his dad and Teddy. But that had never really been his dream. He’d always wanted something for himself. Something he could build up with his own sweat and tears. A place where people could come and have a good time. When he had heard that Tom was looking to sell the place and retire, he had jumped at the unique opportunity. Years of saving every penny he’d earned working at this uncle’s shop had finally paid off.</p><p>Hundreds of people walked through the Leaky Cauldron every day to access Diagon Alley, but it had been ages since anyone (other than a few questionable regulars) had actually stopped in for a drink or a bite to eat. The truth was, the place was a dump. Paint peeled from greasy walls, a thick layer of compacted dirt covered the stone floors, the food tasted like unfiltered frying oil, and the beer was warm and flat. </p><p>It had become a cobweb-riddled ghost of its former self and James was going to restore it!  He was going to breathe new, youthful life into the crumbling infrastructure. He was going to create his own unique but humble legacy with drinks specials, karaoke nights, and the best menu in Diagon Alley.</p><p>Unlike some others, Teddy had supported and encouraged him from the moment James told him of his plans, never once doubting him. He couldn't wait to tell his boyfriend the news first. He also couldn’t wait to strip the man bare and taste every inch of his body. <i>Bloody hell…</i> Both of his dreams were going to come true in one utterly amazing day.</p><p>Bag in hand, he twisted around, ending his dance with a final (overly dramatic) thrust of his pelvis, and was met by Albus, who was grinning malevolently and blocking his exit. “Nice moves,” he teased. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”</p><p>James cursed out loud; if he had known his nosy brother was home, he would have been much quieter coming in. “Piss off, Al,” he shot back, though there was no real heat in his tone. “I’m running late.”</p><p>Albus crossed his arms and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “For your date with Teddy’s cock? That <i>is</i> tonight, right?” </p><p>James swallowed down the urge to hex the little prat and shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”</p><p>Albus snorted. “Come off it! Me and Scorpius overheard you two talking when Teddy dropped you off last night. If you call nearly shagging on the doorstep <i>talking.</i>”</p><p>James felt his ears begin to burn. “Bollocks. You were eavesdropping!”</p><p>“Did he really make you wait a <i>whole</i> month?” Al continued, ignoring the accusation. “Brutal. Scorp and I—”</p><p>“Oi!” James shouted, interrupting what was sure to be far too much information. “I don’t want to know what you and your little boyfriend get up to. Now move, I need to get out of here before Dad gets home and tries to give me a talk.”</p><p>Harry had an embarrassing habit of rattling off various protection spells whenever he thought his children might need reminding (which of course was never, if you asked them). It didn’t seem to matter to him that James was twenty-one and Albus, nineteen, had probably been fucking Scorpius since their fifth year. </p><p>“You mean he hasn’t already?” Albus looked affronted. “He corners me every time I stay at the Manor!”</p><p>“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell him I’m crashing at Teddy’s,” James replied smugly. “You’re going to tell him after I’m gone.”</p><p>The devilish, Slytherin smirk returned to Albus’ face. “Oh yeah? What’s in it for me?”</p><p>Fortunately, Al wasn’t the only Potter with a bit of cunning. “I won’t tell Dad about the engagement ring you have hidden in your sock drawer.”</p><p>That did the trick. Albus paled and James was able to skirt past him easily. “Later, snake,” he called triumphantly, sliding down the banister for more dramatic effect. No matter how old he got, Albus always managed to bring out the snarky, overconfident child in him. He’d offer to babysit Hagrid’s blast-ended skrewts before he would admit it aloud, but he loved that about his brother.</p><p>His epic escape was thwarted, however, when the Floo came to life just as he was about to toss in the powder. James opened his mouth to groan in frustration, but he snapped it shut the moment he saw his dad’s tear streaked face appear through the flames.</p><p>James startled. In his life, he had seen his father cry dozens of times. He cried on holidays, birthdays, and every year when he dropped his children off at King’s Cross station—but he’d never looked like this—like his entire world had been ripped from underneath his feet.</p><p>“Dad? Are you alright?” he asked fervently. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stepped closer and reached out. Something was very wrong, and the atmosphere was suddenly charged with it. </p><p>“I… I’m so sorry, son,” Harry said faintly, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. “There’s been an accident. <i>It’s Teddy</i>.”</p><p>Suddenly, it felt as though the air had been violently forced from James’ lungs. His hands began to shake and his knees went weak… he didn’t need to hear his father’s next words, because they were written plainly across his anguished face.</p><p>“<i>He’s gone…</i>”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>One year later…</b>
  </p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>Of the many enjoyable ways to wake up on a nice, sunny morning (or was it afternoon?), rolling over to vomit violently off the side of the bed wasn’t one of them.<p><i>Fucking hell,</i> James thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His stomach was sour, and the pounding in his skull was enough to bring on another aggressive bout of dry heaves.</p><p>When the spasms in his gut finally subsided, James swished his mouth out with the remainder of the Firewhisky sitting on top of his bedside table and spat it out onto the floor with his sick. He’d clean it up later... probably. Right now, all he wanted was a hangover potion and a long shower. </p><p>It was a good thing James no longer lived with his parents. If his mother saw him like this—stumbling to the bathroom covered in vomit—she would never let him leave the house again. Everyone knew he wasn’t using the best coping mechanisms, but it was one thing to know it, and another thing entirely to <i>see</i> it. He looked like hell and a half, no doubt. </p><p>In his defense, he didn’t drink himself into a stupor <i>every</i> night. Most days he worked from open to close—and a few hours after—renovating his old pub little by little while serving his few, lowly regulars. But sometimes, working himself to mental and physical exhaustion still wasn't enough to take Teddy off his mind. Alcohol didn’t help with that either, but it was easier to cry himself to sleep with half a bottle of Odgen’s in his system. </p><p>James was fucking pathetic and he knew it. He just didn’t know how not to be. No amount of work, drink, or loose men could fill the gaping, Teddy-shaped void in his heart. He wasn’t even sure he wanted them to. On the rare occasions that he did manage to go a few hours without Teddy at the forefront of his mind (usually when he was surrounded by family), he ended up feeling guilty. Like allowing himself to be happy, even for a moment, was an insult to Teddy’s memory. </p><p>Logically, he understood that it was a stupid way to feel. There didn’t seem to be anything logical about grief. Grief was chaos; a whirlwind of pain, confusion, fear, and hollowness. The sharp sting of it had dulled over time, but the constant ache never went away. </p><p>When James was feeling especially low, he would allow himself to imagine what his life would be like if he hadn’t lost Teddy. He would have spent the last year happily falling more and more in love; living every moment to its fullest. </p><p>Instead, time had dragged by in a haze of tears, sleepless nights, and hollow silences. The entire family had been torn at the seams and left in tatters. But it was James that had been damaged the most. He hadn’t just been torn, he’d been sawed in half: left empty and irrevocably broken.</p><p>As time passed and seasons changed, the family slowly began to move on. James’ dad continued his work and his mum resumed her international Quidditch tour for the <i>Prophet</i>. Lily completed her seventh-year at Hogwarts and wasted no time booking a Portkey to Romania to research dragon reproduction cycles. And Al… Well, Al had Scorpius to go home to (when he wasn’t spending his time holding the pieces of his big brothers’ life together). </p><p>“Jamie, are you alright? You’ve been in there for ages.” </p><p><i>Speak of the devil</i>, James thought miserably. Bugger the day he’d decided to give Albus a spare key. </p><p>“M’coming,” he grunted, wrapping a towel around his waist. </p><p>When he opened the door that separated his room from the bathroom, he found Albus, sitting at the end of his bed with his nose wrinkled in disgust. “This place is a wreck,” he observed. His tone wasn’t unkind, though it did remind James a bit of their father's voice when he’d attempted to reprimand them as children. He was trying to sound stern, but his heart wasn’t really in it. </p><p>James ran his hands through his hair self-consciously. “Yeah well, I’ve been busy with the pub lately.” </p><p>Albus raised an eyebrow. “Too busy to clean up the pile of regurgitated curry and whisky on the floor?” </p><p><i>Too hungover more like</i>, but James didn’t say that. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders lightly. “What are you doing here?” he asked. </p><p>“Mum’s peeved that you missed dinner again last night,” Albus explained. “She sent me to give you a guilt trip on her behalf. Do you feel sufficiently ashamed yet? Or should I continue? She mentioned something about missing you, how you’re never around anymore, blah blah blah.” </p><p>James chuckled lightly (—bitterly.) “I’ve got the message,” he assured. “I’ll Floo her later and make something up.” </p><p>Albus smiled gently. It didn’t really meet his eyes, it never did these days (at least, not when it was directed at James). Al knew him better than anyone else. He saw right through James’ feeble attempts to convince the world that he wasn’t slowly suffocating under the weight of his anguish. </p><p>“She’s not going to buy it if you tell her you got caught up at work again. The pub isn’t even open on Sunday evenings.” </p><p>“It would be, if anyone ever came in.” James let out a frustrated huff. “This place is a ghost town on Sunday nights.” It was always a ghost town, really. </p><p>The look of condemnation that Albus shot him spoke much louder than any words could. James huffed again. </p><p>“Alright, I get it. I’ll come next week.” </p><p>“Come to dinner, don’t come to dinner—it really doesn’t matter to me.” Albus pulled his legs up and crossed them on the bed. “Just do <i>something</i> other than wallow around in your pub or this disgusting flat. It’s not even a proper flat. It’s a hotel room with a kitchenette.” </p><p>“What would you suggest?” James asked, tone dripping with sarcasm. He stepped over to his laundry basket and pulled out the cleanest shirt he could find, pulling it over his head. “Should I take up a hobby? Start a bloody vegetable garden in the alley?” </p><p>“Wouldn’t hurt to get some sunlight. You’re pastier than Scorpius these days. You could start with that group I told you about.” </p><p>James groaned audibly, and fell onto the bed next to his brother. <i>This again</i>, he thought wearily. Albus had been trying to persuade him to join some swotty support group for months. Scorpius had put him up to it, no doubt. </p><p>“I know you think it’s stupid,” Albus continued, unpreturbed. “But it might help. It’s a safe space.” </p><p>“I don’t need a bleeding safe space, Albus. I’m not a child.” </p><p>“It’s not colouring books and rainbow stickers, James. No one is singing <i>kum ba yah</i>. It’s therapy.” </p><p>“It sounds miserable.”</p><p>“You’re already miserable!” </p><p>“Fuck it.” James rolled over and caught a fresh whiff of vomit and sour alcohol. “Clean this up, will you?” He grumbled moodily. He didn’t know where his own wand was, probably downstairs in the pub where he’d spent hours the night before attempting to conjure another Patronus Charm. He didn’t have the energy, or the mental fortitude to summon it now. </p><p>“I’ll clean it up if you say you’ll go,” Albus pleaded. “Just one meeting, James. It’s a Muggle group, they won’t even know who you are.”</p><p>“I said <i>fuck it</i>, didn’t I?” </p><p>Seemingly satisfied, Albus pulled out his wand and uttered a spell that vanished the vomit and left the cracked wooden floor shining.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>It was sunny outside. Shimmering rays of light shone through the stark white curtains, illuminating the otherwise invisible dust that floated through the air. There was something mesmerising about the way it seemed to dance and sparkle, despite the lack of proper ventilation in the room.<p>Through the window, oaks and London plane trees could be seen fluttering in the courtyard below. There was a breeze outside, and with each new gust a few more brightly coloured leaves fell gracefully to the ground. It was a truly beautiful view—one that John hoped he would never see again. </p><p>“Lovely morning, isn’t it? How are you feeling today?” </p><p>John, who had been fiddling with the sleeve of his gown nervously, looked up and smiled. “Never better, Doc.” He’d hoped to sound cheery. Unfortunately, his tone betrayed him—coming out small, brittle, and insecure. “Well, perhaps a bit apprehensive,” he amended wearily. </p><p>Dr Collins nodded sympathetically as he plucked a pen from the chest pocket of his white coat. “That’s understandable, it’s a big day.”</p><p>This was a massive understatement, they both knew. It was overwhelming, confusing, and more than a bit terrifying. John chose not to point that out. He didn’t want to give the doctor any reason to delay his impending release from hospital.</p><p>“I’m ready,” he asserted instead, aiming for nonchalance. “No offense, but I’m told Mrs Jones makes killer bangers and mash. After a year of hospital food, I plan to eat my way through London to make up for it.”</p><p>Dr Collins laughed heartily and shook his head. “Don’t think that I don’t know about the nurses and night staff sneaking in take-out, John. I caught Wilbert smuggling in a cheeseburger just last week.”</p><p>John feigned a look of innocence. He wasn’t fooling the doctor, but he enjoyed the banter all the same. “I resent that accusation. It was a double bacon cheeseburger with chips and gravy.”</p><p>“Chips <i>and</i> gravy, huh? You know, I think Wilbert has a bit of a crush on you. How is it that you’ve managed to charm the pants off half my staff?” Dr Collins winked playfully before pulling out John’s chart and starting the usual wellness check. “Are you ready to get this over with?”</p><p>“If we must,” John sighed with mock exasperation. </p><p>The doctor mirrored his mawkish tone. “It’s what they pay me for, I’m afraid. Such a hassle, really. Now, let’s get to it shall we? Have you seen or heard anything unusual since the last time we talked?”</p><p>“Nothing out of the ordinary,” John lied easily. </p><p>When the examination concluded, Collins patted him on the shoulder affectionately. “We’ll miss you ‘round here, kid. Good luck. Don’t forget to pop in from time to time. You know Nurse O'Connor will go mad with worry if you don’t.”</p><p>John forced a cheerful smile. “I’ll ring her every day,” he assured.</p><p>When Dr Collins left, John sighed heavily and fell back into his bed, taking in the room around him. The Maudsley had been his home for the last year, and today at approximately 3.00 pm, he would be leaving to begin his life in earnest. </p><p>The only trouble was, John didn’t <i>have</i> a life; no family, no friends, no memories, and no home to return to.</p><p>The circumstances of his arrival at The Maudsley were, in no small part, a reason for his anxiety. All he knew about himself was what the hospital staff were able to tell him, which wasn’t much. </p><p>He’d been found in an alley—they said—bleeding out, and nearly dead from a gunshot wound to the head. He had no form of legal identification on him, and he was wearing strange robes and an old, battered watch with the name <i>R. J. Lupin</i> inscribed on the bezel. </p><p>He’d spent the next six months in a coma. No one expected him to live. However, to the staff’s great shock, on a random Tuesday morning in July, John promptly woke, confused and dishevelled, but very much alive. </p><p>Now, after months of intense physio therapy and treatment, John was considered a medical miracle. He was completely healthy, and the only visible sign that he had ever been injured was a jagged scar that ran from the corner of his right eye to the crown of his head. It didn’t even look that bad once the staff had convinced him to have his hair trimmed into an undercut; a style that John insisted made him look like a pompous tosser, but secretly loved. </p><p>At half past one, a knock on the door woke John from his slumber. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but periodical naps throughout the day were fairly common for him as there wasn’t much to occupy his time in a gloomy hospital room. “Come in,” he muttered groggily as he moved into a sitting position.</p><p>Chaz, his social worker, walked in with his arms stretched wide and his signature, toothy grin. “Heyyy, Johnny-boy! What’s crackalackin’?” </p><p>John snorted. “The nineteen nineties rang; they want their lingo back.”</p><p>Chaz flopped down on the end of John’s bed with a bounce, completely unfazed. “They’ll be wanting that joke back too, mate.”</p><p>“Touché,” John conceded with a grin. “You here to bust me out?” </p><p>“That’s the word. Are you ready to trade in that sheet they’ve kept you in for a pair of trousers?”</p><p>“Nah, I figured I would walk around London with my bum out—give the people a nice view,” John quipped, with a small shake of his behind. </p><p>Chaz laughed and fluttered his eyelashes playfully. “As appealing as that sounds, times have changed while you’ve been slumming it in here. It’s now considered improper to flash your backside to old ladies on the tube.”</p><p>“Shame, that.”</p><p>“Shame indeed.” </p><p>Chaz reached into his satchel and retrieved a shopping bag. “I picked this up for you,” he said, handing it over. “It’s a little different than your usual, <i>infirmary-chic</i> attire, but it should fit alright.”</p><p>John took it and pulled out a simple black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. “Thanks, mate. I owe you one.”</p><p>Chaz flapped his hand dismissively. “Damn right you do. I’ll come ‘round to collect later. Go get dressed.” </p><p>John shuffled off to the bathroom to change, feeling immensely grateful for the man. The truth was, he owed Chaz a lot more than <i>’one’</i>.</p><p>When John woke from his coma, Social Services assigned Chaz to his unusual case. In the beginning, John didn’t know what to make of the strange man. He wore obnoxiously bright colours and said things like ‘right on’ and ‘that’s whack, bruh!’ His dreadlocks, which fell past his elbows, had little seashells entwined in them and he had about a hundred tattoos covering his arms, legs, and chest. </p><p>John had never seen anyone who looked like that—not that he would remember them if he had—so, his initial impression wasn’t entirely positive. Why would the state send a hippie with an earring to help him integrate into society?  </p><p>Fortunately, it wasn’t a cruel joke. Not only was Chaz hilarious and interesting to be around, he was damn good at his job. </p><p>Because John’s case was rather unprecedented, no one was entirely sure how to handle him. He was an anomaly of the system. He had no proof of residency or citizenship—no personhood at all. In fact, as far as the British government was concerned, he didn’t even exist.  </p><p>The legal process to get him officially recognised by the state was long and convoluted, but Chaz was by his side through every stressful moment. He was there to reassure him after the intimidating interview in which an immigration officer had implied that his “memory loss story” had been fabricated as a way to easily gain British Citizenship, laughing at the guy for thinking that John could have made up his six month stint in hospital and trick the the staff into believing they had treated him. </p><p>He was there through the identity crises, helping John choose a surname; Pryor—which he stole from Chaz’s favourite American comedian. John didn’t think of himself as a particularly funny guy, but listening to one of Richard Pryor’s stand-up specials with Chaz was the first time he could remember genuinely laughing. And he supposed that counted for something. </p><p>Chaz helped him navigate through a sea of legal paperwork so that he could obtain a birth certificate (with a made up birthdate) and a national insurance number; basic things other citizens took for granted but which he desperately needed to be able to work and <i>live</i>. </p><p>Chaz could have stopped there. His official duties were completed. But he was a (self-described) beast, and when he set his mind to something, come hell or high water, he was determined to make it happen. </p><p>His first goal was housing, which ended up being a bit of a fight: “<i>I’m not going to live off charity. Plenty of people need it more than I do.</i>” </p><p>“<i>What are you going to do, John? Go back to the alley they found you in and set up a tent? There is a difference between noble and stupid, you know</i>.”</p><p>He couldn’t really argue with that, so in the end, John was paired with Mrs Betty Jones, a pensioner who had a spare bedroom and needed an in-home caregiver: “<i>It isn’t charity, you stubborn arsehole. You clean the house and keep the cats fed in return for a place to crash. You dig?</i>”</p><p>As it were, John could ‘dig’. It only took one visit from the crazy old lady for him to grow enormously fond of her.</p><p>Chaz’s next goal was helping John secure a job, which proved to be much more difficult. Because although John had retained most of his rudimentary skills (reading, writing, general worldly knowledge), he had apparently lost all function when it came to technology. Mobiles, computers, and televisions felt like foreign objects, which he seemed incapable of operating properly. </p><p>It wasn’t his fault that nothing seemed to work quite right for him. It was okay though, because Chaz assured him that stocking groceries overnight in a 24-hour supermarket would be a piece of cake; at least until he was ready for something more challenging. What that might be, well, he didn’t have the slightest idea. </p><p>Through it all, he and Chaz became friends. They had lunch together at least once a week, talking about anything and everything. Chaz brought him films to watch and books to read. He taught John all about current events, pop culture, music, and politics; though he warned him away from the later. <i>‘It’s all bullshite, mate.’</i> </p><p>Everything from his eccentric style to his laid back attitude set John at ease. Chaz had never treated him like a head case or handled him with an overabundance of care. Instead, he made John feel normal, even though he and his situation was anything but. </p><p>“You need some help there, Cinderella?” Chaz called from the other room, jostling him out of his thoughts. “The mice are busy, but I can zip you up if you need.” </p><p>Chaz had walked in on him watching that film a few weeks prior and hadn’t stopped teasing him since. Apparently, it was mostly favoured by young girls, but that hadn’t stopped John from going misty eyed at the end.</p><p>“Does that make you my fairy Godmother?” he asked.</p><p>“Nah, I’m Prince Charming. Although I have been known to grant wishes from time to time.” </p><p>John shook his head and smiled at his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror. Chaz wasn’t his fairy Godmother or his Prince Charming, but he had given him the gift of life, or the start of one at least, and that was as close to real magic as it got.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Harry</b>
  </p>
</div>Bile rose up in Harry’s throat as the modest brick building he was looking for came into view. His nose tingled uncomfortably, but he blinked back the tears that were brimming in his eyes. As much as he’d like to, he couldn’t avoid this meeting any longer.<p>The swinging sign above the door read: <i>Audrey Weasley, Magical Solicitor</i>, in shiny gold letters.</p><p>Despite his heavy heart, a small smile graced his lips. Although Percy was undoubtedly his least favourite brother-in-law, Harry quite liked his wife Audrey. She was smart as a whip, and one of the most accomplished magical solicitors in Britain. There was something radiant about her; something endlessly positive, optimistic, and charmingly dishevelled.</p><p> How she’d fallen for Percy was a mystery to all, though everyone agreed he was loads more tolerable with her in his life.</p><p>Harry’s smile grew a touch more genuine when he pushed the door open and took in the little office. There were piles of books stacked haphazardly in every nook and cranny. Motivational posters, placards, and countless certificates and diplomas from both Muggle and Wizarding institutions hung from the walls. In the corner, a large playpen filled with building blocks and toy dolls housed the twins, Molly and Lucy, who were currently sleeping soundly—their tiny faces sticky with what appeared to be the remnants of a lollipop.</p><p>“Harry!” Audrey exclaimed, looking up from a large stack of papers littering her desk. “It’s good to see you.”</p><p>Harry shot an apprehensive look at the girls that Audrey quickly waved off. “Don’t worry about them, I’ve cast a <i>Muffliato</i>. Come, sit down.” She gestured flippantly toward the chair across from her and began shuffling through the cluttered stack of files.</p><p>Harry sat, and did his best to ignore the anxious fluttering in his chest. Audrey knew this was difficult for him, but she wouldn’t treat him with kid gloves—she wouldn’t pat his hand in false sympathy or send him pitiful looks—it wasn’t her way.</p><p>“Here it is,” she declared after a moment, pulling out a thick folder and handing it to him. Audrey was Muggle born (much to Arthur’s delight), and refused to use parchment and quills. The files Harry held were typed on crisp white paper, and bound to the yellow folder neatly.</p><p>“Is this everything?” Harry asked, careful to keep the tremble out of his voice.</p><p>“It’s all there,” she confirmed. “I’ve had them typed up and prepared for months. They just need your signature.”</p><p>Harry stared down at the folder… the legal paperwork that would officially transfer all of Teddy’s assets to himself.</p><p>He never thought he would be taking back the Black fortune. He’d given it all to Teddy when his godson had turned eighteen. The vaults, the gold, and even the deed to 12 Grimmauld Place. Now that Teddy was… well, now it would come back to Harry.</p><p>He reflexively tightened his stomach to stave off the nausea.</p><p>“I just… I just sign it?”</p><p>Audrey nodded gently. “As you know, Magical law considers you Teddy’s next of kin. Without a proper will, that means that you will re-inherit the Black holdings, as well as his personal vault, and everything Andromeda and his parents left to him. I’ve done the research, there is no one else eligible to claim it. If you don’t, the Ministry can—and most likely will—seize it.”</p><p>Harry breathed deeply, but this time it wasn’t enough to stop the tear that slid down his cheek. “H-how long do I have?”</p><p>“The law says eighteen months.” Her voice was soft, but there was an underlying urgency. “It’s already been fourteen…”</p><p>She didn’t need to tell him how long it had been; Harry knew. He still counted the days in his head. He still felt the sting like it was yesterday. He still watched the lines on his eldest son’s face grow more and more prominent with each passing month. <i>Fourteen months, three days, sixteen hours</i>…</p><p>“I understand,” he conceded. “Show me where to sign.” </p><p>“Here,” she indicated, handing him a ballpoint pen. </p><p>Harry took it, and swallowed hard before pressing the point of the pen to the paper. He took a deep breath—<i>I’m so sorry Teddy</i>—he released it slowly—<i>I’ll do something good with it, I promise</i>—his hand started to move—something for you, for your mum, for your gran, for your father; who trusted me to keep you safe…</p><p>Suddenly, the pen exploded in his hand—covering his shirt and Audrey’s desk in dark black ink. A bit of it splashed on her chest and Harry hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “It’s—”</p><p>“Harry.” She cut him off with a stern but soothing tone. “It’s just a bit of ink.” With a quick wave of her wand, it disappeared. She handed him another pen and nodded encouragingly. </p><p>Again, Harry took it and began to sign. He cursed under his breath when he realised that this one was dry. He sat it down and took another... then another. “I think you bought a bad batch,” he said finally. “Do you have a quill?” </p><p>Audrey’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Um… I have one somewhere.” She began rifling through her drawers, extracting various magical and Muggle objects. “Here we are,” she stated after a moment, revealing a small pot and a quill with bent feathers. </p><p>It didn’t work either. It was as though the ink dried on the tip just before he could touch it to the paper. “Does it need to be signed with blood?” Harry asked, only half jokingly. It was now clear enough that bad ink had nothing to do with the problem.</p><p>“I—” Audrey paused and looked at him thoughtfully. “Very few legal contracts require a blood oath,” she said seriously. “You used ink when you signed the estate over to Teddy. Right?”</p><p>Harry nodded. Audrey’s frown grew deeper. </p><p>“I could try writing it out on traditional parchment,” she suggested. “But I’ve never had a problem like this before. Typically, if someone is unable to sign a magical contract, it’s because they don’t have a legal right to whatever it is they are agreeing to.” </p><p>A deep, sinking feeling settled in the pit of Harry’s stomach. <i>No legal right?</i> That didn’t make any sense at all. He was Teddy’s beneficiary, there was no one else it could be. Audrey had said so herself. </p><p>“Please don’t take this the wrong way. Er— is it possible that there is something we aren’t considering? Something you are unaware of?” Audrey’s face indicated that she was just as uncomfortable asking the question as Harry was being asked. </p><p>What else was there to be considered? Andy had been buried beside Ted Tonks three years ago, and as far as Harry knew, Teddy had no other blood relatives… except. The blood in his temple started to pump faster. </p><p>“What about the Malfoys?” </p><p>Sitting up in her seat, Audrey squared her shoulders and placed her index finger on her chin. “Impossible,” she breathed, more to herself than Harry. “Black left the estate to you—you turned it over to Teddy—no other relatives—it goes back to you. Unless…” </p><p><i>“Unless?”</i> Harry demanded. </p><p>Audrey gave him a firm look. “Harry, if the Malfoys had any claim over the Black estate they would have taken it from you a long time ago. Immediately after your godfather died, I suspect. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had the full power of the Ministry on their side at that time. They were unable to manage it.” </p><p>“Then what does this mean?” Harry cried. He didn’t intend to raise his voice; he hadn’t shouted at anyone in years, not even the insufferable crup Lily let run wild and piss in his flower beds. But this... this was too much. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want the Black inheritance. It was Teddy’s, it had always been Teddy’s birthright. He was only meant to hold it until his godson could claim it. </p><p>There had never been any doubt in Harry’s mind that Andromeda and Sirius would have wanted that. </p><p>Now, his godson was gone. Teddy was <i>gone</i>. And Harry was here, in this suffocating office, attempting to keep it together; desperately trying not to break down, as once again, he was receiving a fortune he didn’t earn, from someone else he had lost too soon. His parents, Sirius, and now...<i>Teddy…</i>.</p><p>“What does it mean?” Harry asked again. This time, his voice cracked and the moisture collecting in his eyes had nowhere to go but down—down his cheeks and into the breast of his robes. </p><p>He bowed his head, and his hands gripped the arms of the chair as though his life depended on it. He felt like if he let go, he would float away into anguish. </p><p><i>“Harry.”</i> A soft, gentle hand covered his own, and a cup of tea was pushed into it. Without a second thought, Harry brought it to his lips and downed the warm liquid in one swallow. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, clinging to Audrey’s warm embrace as the Calming Draught took effect. </p><p>“Harry.” Audrey’s voice cut through his semi-catatonic state. “I’m so sorry. But you have to find his heir.”</p><p>“Heir?” he choked out. He felt floaty, but his mind was still very much intact. Audrey seemed to be talking nonsense. He looked up at her—her lips were drawn into a tight, thin line. “Heir?” he repeated. “Who's heir?”</p><p>“Teddy’s heir,” she clarified, looking as shaken as he felt. “A child, perhaps?” </p><p>Despite the potion, Harry’s back and shoulders tensed up again. His mind began to race. It was impossible. “Teddy didn’t have any children.”</p><p>“A husband or wife?” </p><p>“Absolutely not!”</p><p>“Are you sure? Because there are only two reasons that you wouldn’t be able to sign that document. Either Teddy has an heir that you don’t know about. Or...”</p><p>Harry braced himself. </p><p>“... Or Teddy isn’t dead.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Jasper</b>
  </p>
</div>“This was a mistake!”<p>Jasper leaned back in his chair and regarded his lover with heavily lidded eyes. She’d been pacing around the room for the better part of an hour, and he’d grown bored with her manic ramblings. </p><p>“Everything is going to plan, Dru,” he drawled lazily, before downing his glass of Firewhisky and pouring another. He’d had a long day, and was in no mood to deal with her melodramatic paranoia. “Perhaps you should have a drink; you’re becoming frantic again.”</p><p>Druella stopped dead. Turning on the spot, she fixed him with a murderous glare. “<i>Frantic</i>?” she demanded, voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. “Excuse me for being <i>concerned</i>. As far as I can tell, not a single thing has gone to plan since the beginning! They may have removed the Dementors, Jaz, but I’ve seen Azkaban. It’s not a place you want to bloody end up!”</p><p>Jasper sighed, dropping his shoulders with exasperation. He’d always known that Dru was weak, but there was once a time when her passion for the cause had outshone her insecurities. Now, it seemed as though her apprehension was getting the better of her. </p><p>“No one is going to Azkaban, my dear,” he reassured calmly, swallowing down a second shot and allowing it to burn down his throat pleasantly. “I’ll admit, Brody’s error was a minor setback—” </p><p>“A <i>minor</i> setback?” she screeched indignantly. “Brody nearly killed him! He wasn’t supposed to be injured! His idiocy set us back an entire year! And don’t even get me started on the watch.”</p><p>“The situation isn’t ideal,” Jasper agreed calmly. “But Lupin is well positioned now. In fact, he’s nearly ready for you.”</p><p>Durella’s head snapped up. “Are you sure?” she breathed. “So soon after his release?” The light from the dwindling fire danced in her widened eyes, illuminating a glint of excitement.</p><p>Jasper felt himself rise to attention at the sight of it. Dru was always beautiful, but she was downright irresistible when she got that look. It was a look of purpose; of dark and thrilling determination.</p><p>With a wicked smile, Jasper stood and strode across the room, reaching out to her as he went. “I’m positive. He just needs a few more weeks to get settled in. Then, all we have to do is keep him occupied...”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>The dreams began not long after John woke up from the coma. At first, all they consisted of was colour; green, with touches of yellow and brown, which gave him the strongest feeling of an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Soon, they became more detailed. He woke remembering flashes of random images: a scarlet steam engine train, an oddly shaped broomstick, a yellow scarf.<p>He’d explained the dreams to his therapist, who quickly warned him away from reading too much into them. <i>“Dreams are a random collection of thoughts, memories, and desires which your brain manifests in all sorts of transcendent ways,” the therapist explained. “There is very little reliable science behind them. It would be unwise to assume that anything you have dreamed about is something directly related to your past. They could be an assortment of things you saw on the telly, or even something your brain has fabricated entirely.”</i></p><p>John accepted this explanation easily at first. </p><p>The dreams became more prevalent over time, as his sleep and pain medications reduced in dosage. In spite of the warning, John struggled to not attach any meaning to the dreams. He was intrigued by the mythical creatures, talking ghosts, and the blurred faces of people he couldn’t remember knowing—many wearing the same type of odd robes he’d been found in. </p><p>Surely it meant something...</p><p><i>’When you know so little about yourself, the temptation to over-analyse everything is exorbitant</i>,’ they’d said. <i>‘Ghosts aren’t real, and they certainly don’t talk.</i></p><p>As peculiar as the dreams were, they weren’t nearly as troubling as the hallucinations that soon followed. The first time it happened, John had just woken up from a particularly disturbing dream that involved a hoard of black, hooded figures chasing him through a whimsical sweet shop. It was the first one that he would have considered to be a nightmare. It had left him feeling cold and shaken, as though any semblance of cheer had been sucked right out of him.</p><p>He’d quickly scrambled out of his hospital bed and walked to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water, hoping that it would clear the troubling images from his mind. What he found there was much more troubling than any dream could be. John took one look at his reflection in the mirror and his mouth fell open in shock.</p><p>His hair, which was normally a light, sandy brown, was now a deep shade of… <i>ruby red</i>? His eyes were no longer light green but had become a piercing tincture of amber. The sight of himself (or was it someone else?) had sent chills down his spine, raising goosebumps on his skin.</p><p>John had closed his eyes tight, gripping the porcelain sink, and breathed deeply until his rapidly beating heart slowed to a normal pace. “You’re seeing things,” he whispered out loud, bringing up a hand to gently massage his temple. He could feel the raised scar there, the ever present reminder that he was damaged. “It’s not real.”</p><p>After a moment, he’d opened his eyes again and breathed a sigh of relief. His features were back to normal, but the glass in the mirror had cracked cleanly down the middle. He couldn’t remember breaking it.</p><p>He told his therapist about this incident as well. The doctor had clearly been confused by the development, but assured John that stranger things had happened to patients suffering from brain injuries. </p><p>
  <i>“What’s important is that you were able to discern the difference between your hallucination and reality, John. As long as you have the presence of mind to distinguish between the two, you’re doing okay.”</i>
</p><p>The words were meant to encourage him. They didn’t. </p><p>John wished he could say that was the end of it, but the hallucinations didn’t stop there. In fact, they became increasingly more vivid. </p><p>The first time the dog appeared, John thought he was dreaming again. He was in the hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, when suddenly a strange apparition appeared. A swirling blue light shot straight through the wall. It landed on his chest and slowed its movements just long enough for John to see that it appeared to be in the shape of a small terrier, who began to desperately paw at his bedclothes. It seemed to be trying to talk to him, but the words were slurred beyond recognition—broken by noises that sounded like a man choking. John had been overcome with the desire to comfort it, but the moment he reached out, it disappeared.</p><p>The second time he saw the translucent delusion, it was impossible to pass it off as a dream. </p><p>It was mid-morning. John had just returned from an exhausting physical therapy session when he found a pack of M&amp;S white chocolate, cranberry and macadamia cookies waiting for him on his bed. He didn’t need to ask who had left them, Nurse O’Conner liked to sneak them in her own lunch box. </p><p>He’d attacked the cookies with the enthusiasm of a famished child when the dog floated up to him with wide, glossy eyes. It whimpered, before nuzzling it’s nose into the crook of John’s arm—an action that he could see clearly, but couldn’t actually feel. </p><p>This time, the words it spoke were crystal clear, but whispered and laced with undeniable sorrow. “I miss you so fucking much,” it said pathetically, sending a chill down his spine. “I’m going mad here without you. It’s like… this massive, vacant hole in me that’s impossible to fill. You probably would have laughed at that… told me I sound like some bleeding-hearted, wannabe poet. But, hey, the best poets were all mad, weren’t they? Eh, what do I know? I’m just a drunk who’s sending a Patronus to a dead man… s’better than sending my severed ear, I s’pose.”</p><p>The illusion then dissolved, and for the first time John had genuinely wondered if he was going mad. Of course, losing his memories raised all sorts of questions regarding his sanity, but up until that point, John had always felt deep down that he was lucid. After that, he wasn’t so sure.</p><p>The word ‘patronus’ didn’t garner a single Google result. <i>Did you mean patronise?</i> flashed on the screen before the hospital computer went dead with an audible crack.</p><p>The ghost-like dog continued to visit him occasionally—throughout the remainder of his hospital stay—and over time, it became a source of comfort (as opposed to the somewhat frightening manifestation of his mental instability that it <i>truly</i> was). Most of the time it only spoke a few fragmented, unintelligible words. Other times it was more decipherable; saying things like <i>‘I love you,’</i> and ‘it wasn’t supposed to be this way,’ but no further explanation was given.</p><p>Unlike the other odd occurrences, he hadn’t felt comfortable disclosing this particular vision to the medical staff. John may not have had a discernible past or any relevant memories, but he was clever enough to understand that if he ever wanted to leave that place, going on about mystic visions of talking dogs wasn’t going to do him any favours.</p><p>So, he kept it to himself… a <i>secret;</i> the only secret he could ever recall having. </p><p>Now, as he was unpacking his sparse belongings into Betty’s guest bedroom, he knew he’d made the right decision. Her cosy house—which was stacked with antiquated clutter—felt like pure freedom compared to the white-washed, disinfectant-scented hospital. </p><p>The freedom to do what? Well, of that, he wasn’t quite sure yet. But he would figure it out in due time. After all, he had nothing behind him and therefore, everything ahead.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>The room was too large, yet somehow still overbearingly stuffocating. Plastic chairs were arranged into a circle. A folding table was set up in the corner with tea and biscuits. Everyone else in the room was mingling around it—engaged in what appeared to be forced small talk.<p>James sat down by himself, feeling like a complete and utter twat for being there. He still wasn’t sure why he had let Al talk him into this. His ‘feelings’ ran through his mind on a never-ending loop. He didn’t see the benefit in speaking those thoughts out loud to strangers. </p><p><i>‘Group therapy.’</i> Albus, the git, had called it. </p><p>James cursed Scorpius Malfoy ten ways to Sunday as the others took their seats. For as mad as he was at Albus, there was no way this <i>wasn’t</i> Scorpius’ idea. Bloody <i>Malfoy,</i> with his pretentious self-help books and his yoga—spouting off about how the key to a healthy mind starts with a healthy body (and other such rot). Normally, James was quite fond of his eccentric brother-in-law to be. But he hadn’t liked Scorpius very much when he had talked James into a grueling Zumba class, and he didn’t much like him now.</p><p>James didn’t know these people, and they didn’t know him. The only thing they all had in common was a tragedy and loss. Although, when they began to speak, he understood their pain. It bled through their voices and leaked through their eyes. The looks on their faces eerily matched the one that he saw every morning in the mirror.</p><p>
  <i>“The other driver was drunk… she died on impact. Sometimes, I still wake up confused about why she isn’t there beside me.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I was able to listen to our song today for the first time without crying.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I thought children were supposed to bury their parents, not the other way around. There isn’t even a word for it.”</i>
</p><p>When it was James’ turn to tell the group his story, his mouth ran dry. He found himself unable to speak. How could he possibly wrap up everything Teddy had meant to him in a few sentences? Teddy was everything, and now nothing. Meaningless words couldn’t possibly do his life justice. It wouldn’t be right to present Teddy to this group of strangers as a simple summary.</p><p>“I lost him,” James managed to choke out, before his voice went flat. </p><p>The group leader nodded kindly and spoke with infuriatingly soft tones that reminded James of his cousins comforting their children when they were crying unreasonably over something stupid. James didn’t want to be babied or patronised. He was a full-grown adult. He'd learnt by now that nothing could soothe the unbearable emptiness that had replaced everything he used to feel. He blinked automatically, holding back the ghosts of tears he wouldn’t shed. His eyes were dry and empty now. </p><p>And he was done with this... Without a word, he pushed up out of his chair, and walked out of the room, ignoring the group leader calling after him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>It was early afternoon when John finally dragged himself out of bed. His first night at Tesco had been long and tedious. He felt utterly drained by the time he arrived home that morning.<p>His new manager, a short, portly man with shockingly white hair, had welcomed him enthusiastically. <i>“Can’t tell you how nice it is to have a strong, spry, young man like yourself around here,”</i> he’d said, with a noticeable bounce in his step, before assigning John to work unloading several large crates of bottled water. </p><p>The work was exhausting, in a good way. </p><p>From his room, John could hear Mrs Jones’ light snoring, her favourite crime programme playing in the sitting room. He smiled to himself and shook his head, endeared. He’d been living with her for two weeks now. In the beginning he hadn’t been able to understand why anyone—much less a defenseless old lady—would want to watch show after show about murderers and scummy crime lords. But after watching a few episodes with her, it started to make sense. She enjoyed the mystery; speculating and trying to guess who the perpetrator was before they were revealed.</p><p>John suspected that she fancied the smooth-talking detectives, who wore fine suits and boasted a devil may care attitude. As far as John was concerned, anyone who would willingly choose to work in law enforcement—tracking down violent criminals—was a bit off their rocker, no matter how cool the programmes made them appear.</p><p>If you asked him though, Betty Jones <i>was</i> a bit off her rocker too. </p><p>Her house was filled to the brim with clutter; piles of vintage magazines were stacked on the windowsills, yellowing newspapers were boxed away (<i>“Diana, Princess of Wales, Killed in a Car Accident in Paris</i>”) gathering dust in the corner. An extensive collection of ceramic dolls sat precariously atop every available surface of the sitting room. The broken remains of a cat’s scratching post resided in one one side of the room, while a valuable antique chair from the Victorian era resided in another.</p><p>Betty owned three cats: Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-Tail, who had been named after the bunny rabbits from her favourite childhood book. It reminded John of the tale of Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump. Mrs Jones said she’d never heard of it, which was just as well, John couldn’t remember the details of the story anyway.</p><p>John quickly learned that the cats were the true owners of the house. They were at liberty to roam wherever they pleased, and their hair invaded every inch of the place. Betty didn’t have any children of her own. It seemed that her cats had become surrogate offspring. They were the most pampered pets that John had ever encountered (not that he could remember meeting that many animals). They were fed a diet of fresh cream and fine, butcher cut meats; and all three of them slept on Betty’s bed.</p><p>Despite all of this, and the eccentricity of his live-in landlady, John couldn’t help but love the house and every bizarre element of it. Betty seemed to be elated with his presence. She loved to tell him endless stories about her life and asking about his own boring day… As if she truly cared.</p><p>Stifling a yawn, John quietly gathered a change of clothes and began to make his way to the bathroom, hoping a long hot shower would be enough to shake off his lingering fatigue. </p><p>As he passed the door, he peeked into the sitting room and found Betty lying back in her chair with a cup of tea resting precariously in her lap. He smiled fondly and tiptoed across the room to move it, knowing she would be cross if it spilled on her favourite dressing gown. Picking it up gently, he placed it on top of a stack of books on the end table, before turning back towards the hall. </p><p>“John?” Her voice was groggy with sleep. “Heavens, child. What have you done with your hair?” </p><p>John paused, his hand instinctively moving to his head. “Er—” </p><p>“It looks good on you,” she continued, with a nod of approval. “Did I ever tell you about the time I coloured my hair purple before seeing The Who in concert? Me and my girlfriends fancied the pants off of Roger Daultrey. Of course, that was back when music…”</p><p>Her rambling voice faded as John’s panicked thoughts took over his mind. Had his hair changed colour again? Could she really see it too? Quickly, he turned toward a crystal rimmed mirror that hung on the wall. His heart clenched in his chest. Just as he’d feared, his hair had once again turned turquoise. </p><p>“You… you can see it?” He asked in disbelief. </p><p>“Well of course, dear,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I may be old, but my eyes still work fine.”   </p><p>A chill ran down John’s spine. “I… shower,” he managed to utter, before rushing to the bathroom and closing the door behind him. </p><p>It felt like his heart was pounding out of his throat. </p><p>How was it that Betty saw his hair change as well? This was all in his mind, right? It had to be. That’s what the doctors had told him.</p><p>No. There was nothing logical happening here. Clearly, he had imagined the last few minutes. Or he hadn’t, and the old bird was just as crazy as he was... either way, he couldn’t leave it that way. So, he closed his eyes and focused hard, imagining his hair brown. When he opened them, his hair had returned to normal. </p><p>John bathed and dressed quickly. He dashed out (telling Betty that he’d washed out the colour) and phoned Chaz to meet up for lunch. </p><p>“‘Right on.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>-</b>
  </p>
</div>“Do you think…” John released a slow breath. “Do you think maybe I was in some sort of cult?”<p>“A cult?” Chaz asked. He put down his bacon sandwich and fixed John with a curious stare. “What makes you think that?”</p><p>John shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know, mate. I…” He paused, unsure how to broach the subject without bringing up his hair. Chaz was his friend, but he was also his social worker. And that last thing John wanted was to be readmitted to hospital <i>along with Betty</i>, so he improvised; “I was just thinking about the robes they found me in.” </p><p>Chaz sighed. His brow furrowed, but he offered a timid smile. “Yeah, man. The robes were weird,” he admitted. “But you weren’t in a cult. The investigators ruled it out.”</p><p>John nearly choked, his eyes widening in disbelief as he thought about Betty’s shows. “Investigators? Like… like <i>criminal</i> investigators?”</p><p>“John, you were found in an alley at midday in a busy part of town, nearly dead from a gunshot wound to the head,” replied Chaz bluntly. “Not a single person reported hearing a shot fired. Do you have any idea how unusual that is? Of course there was an investigation.”</p><p>John knew all of this, but no one had ever put it quite like that before. “They told me I was mugged,” he said feebly. “I guess I never thought about how they came to that conclusion.” </p><p>Chaz nodded sympathetically. “It was the only thing that made sense in the end. You didn’t have a wallet or a mobile on you.”</p><p>“That doesn’t explain the robes or the watch.” <i>Or the dog, or the hair, or the people in my dreams.</i> </p><p>An odd expression flashed over Chaz’s face. But it was gone so quickly, John wasn’t sure whether or not he’d imagined it. “No offense, mate. The watch is worthless...” John bit down on his tongue. “...even a criminal would know that. You probably picked it up at a second hand shop or something. As for the robes, I have a guess.” Chaz leaned back in his chair and gave him an appraising look. “Have you ever heard of a conspiracy theorist?”</p><p>“A what’s-ist?” John inquired dumbly. </p><p>“You know bruh, people who believe the moon landing was faked or that aliens built the pyramids. That sort of crazy shite.”</p><p>John nearly laughed, but Chaz looked completely serious. “What? You think I was some mad conspiracy theorist?”</p><p>“Maybe. Hear me out.” Chaz leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I was doing some research a few months ago, and I came across an odd website. It was an obscure message board that only had a couple hundred users, but they all believe that magic exists. They’re a bunch of head cases who think there’s a massive magical community operating right under our noses... with like, a whole government and shite.”</p><p>“A magical government?” The very idea was preposterous. </p><p>“They believe in ghosts, magical creatures, spell casting, flying broomsticks; you name it, man.” John thought back to his dreams, and suddenly, the idea seemed slightly less preposterous. “Anyway, the whole lot of them wear funny robes like the ones you were found in.” </p><p>John coughed nervously over the lump in his throat. Everything Chaz said fit. It didn’t explain why Betty could see his hair colour change or the talking ghost-like dog, unless that too was a figment of his apparently overactive imagination. But everything else—the dreams about broomsticks and centaurs, the faceless people in colourful robes—all suddenly seemed to make complete sense. </p><p>“So… I was a nutter?”</p><p>Chaz shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. But I do know one thing, John. Wherever you were—<i>whoever you were</i>—before, led you to near death with no one to come looking for you. Perhaps it’s best to let the past stay where it belongs.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>James couldn’t bring himself to go back to the group therapy meeting the following week. Instead, he decided to talk to someone close to him.<p>After Teddy’s death, James had isolated himself from most of his friends and extended family. In fact, the only person other than his parents who he talked to on a regular basis was Albus. He had leaned on his brother quite a lot over the past year. But they hadn’t done a whole lot of talking; nothing productive anyway, nothing positive.</p><p>Usually, James would cry, or yell, and Albus would listen, bring him tea or hangover potions, and stay there until James fell asleep or went to work in the pub.</p><p>It had only recently occurred to James just how selfish he had been. In all the time that Albus was taking care of him, had he had time to grieve himself? He certainly hadn’t moved on from it either. Albus had been planning a proposal, for Merlin’s sake. And now, over a year later, Albus had yet to pop the question.</p><p>Maybe Al had developed a fear of commitment after what happened, but James didn’t think so. His brother was waiting for James to tell him that it was okay… and it was.</p><p>Albus responded to his owl immediately, agreeing to meet him for lunch. Undoubtedly, he thought the invitation was strange—James hadn’t done something as mundane as lunch in ages—but Al didn’t ask any questions. He never did, anymore.</p><p>James arrived at the pub early. It was a busy place, just a few miles down the road from the Leaky, in Muggle London. He had overheard a couple of his regulars going on about the sandwiches they served, and he planned to scope out his competition. It might even inspire him to get to work on the new menu he’d been creating—intermittently—for a few months.</p><p>James was grateful that Albus didn’t ask him about the support group. Instead, he asked how the renovations for the Leaky were going and patted James on the back encouragingly when he told him that he was looking into hiring a second bar hand.</p><p>“That’s great,” Albus said happily. “Now you can focus more on bringing your vision to life.”</p><p>“You mean that I can go to Sunday dinner and you don’t have to keep giving me guilt trips?” James winked, allowing a small grin to grace his lips.</p><p>Albus’ cheeks coloured, but he smiled back. “That too,” he admitted. “Is that what you invited me out to tell me?”</p><p>In response, James shook his head. “Not entirely. I just hoped we could… you know, talk. Like we used to.”</p><p>“So, you wanted to tease one another and tell crude dick jokes?”  </p><p>James couldn’t help himself, he snorted hard, and a bit of soda came up through his nose. “Arsehole,” he choked out, kicking Albus’ shin lightly beneath the table.</p><p>Albus smirked in that signature way of his that James hadn’t seen in ages. “Leave it to you to bring up arses at every possible opportunity, Jamie. Here I was thinking that you’d matured.”</p><p>“There’s no need to be jealous, Alby. You got a bird’s nest for hair—I got wit and a nice backside—you can’t blame me for my good genes.” The quip dropped from James mouth so effortlessly that for a moment, he almost forgot he was no longer the cocky kid who once lived to take the mickey out of his little brother.</p><p>It seemed that Albus hadn’t lost his spirit either. He fired back immediately (apparently, Al had been quietly stocking up on ‘greedy bottom’ jokes) and they carried on like that until they ran out of banter; until their cheeks were pink and they were rendered breathless from laughter.</p><p>James loved every minute of it. He hadn’t laughed that hard since… well. He hadn’t realised how much he needed this. To just let go for a bit without the aid of alcohol or mindless work.</p><p>“He’s good for you, you know?” James said, after Albus made a particularly salacious joke about the benefits of yoga. “Scorpius, I mean. How long has he had you wrapped around his perfectly manicured finger? Six, seven years?”</p><p>“Not sure. Something like that,” Albus lied nonchalantly. James knew it was a lie. He would be willing to bet his pub that Albus knew the exact minute he and Malfoy had crossed over the line of friendship.</p><p>“It was a surprise,” James recalled. “When we came home for Christmas in your fifth year… you and Scorpius walked off the train holding hands like a couple of soppy, lovesick gits. Everybody in the station gawked at the pair of you like it was some sort of spectacle, but you didn’t cower. You walked straight up to Mum and Dad and introduced them to your boyfriend.”</p><p>Albus smiled, as though he were remembering it fondly. “I half expected Draco to hex me stupid that day,” he admitted. “I was scared shitless.” </p><p>“I know,” James said with a low chuckle. “I was proud of you though. I kept thinking: ‘if this little Slytherin twit can be brave, then so can I. So, I cornered Teddy at Christmas dinner and told him how I felt.”</p><p>Albus’ jaw dropped open comically. “You told Teddy that you fancied him when you were <i>seventeen</i>? You two didn’t get together until…” Al begun ticking off his fingers.</p><p>James laughed genuinely. “Well, he rejected me, didn’t he? Apparently, it isn’t proper for a seventeen-year-old with a mad crush to trap their twenty-three-year-old godbrother in the loo and try to kiss him. Ted ran out of there faster than a spooked kneazle.”</p><p>Albus’ eyes went wide and bright with mirth, before he too nearly collapsed with giggles. “I understand why you failed to mention <i>that</i> for all these years. I would have teased you mercilessly. The loo, really James?”</p><p>“Oh yeah? You try finding a private place to chat at the Burrow!” James defended.</p><p>“The roof,” Albus replied automatically. “There’s a ledge that you can crawl onto outside the window in Mum’s old room.”</p><p>“No shite?”</p><p>“No shite. I used to go out there when the house got too loud. Then later, Scorp and I would—” Albus stopped short and clamped his mouth closed, as if stopping himself from accidentally cursing in front of a small child.</p><p>The unconscious action made James’ skin grow hot with guilt and his lighthearted mood dissipated immediately, to be replaced by the dark and heavy sense of foreboding that he’d become so familiar with in the last year.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Albus breathed, looking genuinely ashamed. “I shouldn’t have… <i>fuck</i>. I’m an arse.”</p><p>James took a deep, soothing breath to steady himself. He loved his brother, and he knew that Albus meant well. But he was done being treated like some poor, shattered soul to be pitied.</p><p>“You don’t have to do that, you know?” James whispered. “You deserve to be happy, Al. You should be able to talk about the things that make you happy—including Scorpius—without worrying about me. Just because I… it doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about the good things.” </p><p>Albus shuffled uncomfortably. His smile didn’t quite meet his eyes, but he nodded in understanding. “I know. It just doesn’t seem fair,” he said heavily. </p><p>“Nothing about life is fair, little bro. We’ve gotta hold on to what we can.” James bumped his shoulder against Al’s in what he hoped was a playful—<i>it’s alright, mate</i>—gesture. “Speaking of… have you still got that engagement ring stashed away?”</p><p>A faint blush tinted Albus’ cheeks and his lips rose into a small, shy smile. “Might have,” he mumbled.</p><p>“Hmmm. Well, I’m not sure if anyone told you this, but the ring is meant to be on his left hand… not wrapped up in a pair of mouldy old socks that you’ve probably wanked off into at some point.” James’ jibe earned him a sharp punch in the shoulder. </p><p>“I’ve never wanked into <i>that</i> pair!” Albus cried indignantly. </p><p>A stern looking woman with several young children turned around and gave them a dirty look from a table nearby causing Albus’ face to turn a dark shade of burgundy. James laughed harder.</p><p>After lunch, Albus said that he needed to pick up some kale for Scorpius. “He’s trying a new raw food diet,” Al explained casually, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about that. </p><p>James decided not to ask, but offered to accompany him on the walk to a Muggle supermarket nearby. It was a nice day and James didn’t venture out into the Muggle world (or anywhere, really) very often. </p><p>The hustle and bustle of the busy London streets was oddly calming. No one ogled them or snapped photos as they passed. Here, they weren’t the sons of The Chosen One, they were just two random blokes in the crowd, off to buy disgustingly bitter green leaves. </p><p>As they turned onto a new street, James recognised it as the same road he had taken to get to the support group the week before, and he felt a tinge of guilt. He should go back… he <i>would</i> go back—if for no other reason than to prove to Albus that he was trying (and maybe to apologise for storming out the first time).</p><p>Albus was prattling on about something or other Lily had written to him about, but James wasn’t listening. His eyes had locked onto a figure in the distance. There was a man up ahead, tall and lanky, with sandy brown hair. James couldn’t see his face, but the width of his shoulders, the way he carried himself, the way his arms swung ever so slightly… </p><p>“James?” </p><p>Albus’ voice cut through his thoughts like a knife and James jerked his head up to see his brother eyeing him curiously. A chill of gooseflesh had risen up his arms and he could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Quickly, he looked back to where the man had been walking only moments before, but he was gone; lost in the crowd. </p><p>“Sorry,” James breathed, mentally shaking himself. “I thought I saw… s’ nothing. What were you saying?” </p><p>Albus raised an eyebrow at him and gestured toward the shop entrance. “I was just saying that we’re here. The shop.” </p><p>“Right,” James said, keeping his voice as even as possible. “Let’s get some biscuits and crisps too, yeah? I don’t want to look like a complete tosser at the checkout.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>The supermarket was quiet, almost eerily so, as John pushed a trolley of canned beans into an empty aisle. It was his last load of the night, and as soon as it was sorted, it would be time for him to punch out.<p>Past the sliding glass doors, he could see the sun begin to peak through the clouds.  It covered the shop with a bright, orange glow.</p><p>John lined the cans up perfectly, starting from the top of the shelf and working his way down. It was almost mechanical the way he moved. New in the back, old in the front; rotate, repeat.</p><p>His thoughts drifted, straying to his warm and inviting bed. He was so tired he could feel it deep within his bones. More and more, it felt like his body was working overtime and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could contain the anxiety within him. Sometimes, he felt like he was vibrating—nearly bursting at the seams with an intense feeling he couldn’t describe. Other times, he felt so subdued that the simple act of moving caused him pain. One moment he was weak, the next, he was practically exploding with uncontainable strength. </p><p>He supposed that this must be what depression felt like. He’d been depressed for as long as he could remember—literally. But in hospital, he’d had distractions and goals. Now, all he had was Betty (who was apparently as crazy as he was), an unfulfilling job, and a more prominent sense of emptiness. Even the dog had stopped coming around as much. Which should have made him feel better, especially now that he was certain it was all a disillusion of his tortured mind. But he didn’t feel better. Because although he knew all of those things he’d imagined weren’t real, he desperately wanted them to be; the dog especially had felt like a friend.</p><p>“Hello. Sir?” John’s body jerked, and he looked up from his debilitating thoughts to find a stunning blonde-haired woman smiling down at him as he bent to re-stock the bottom shelf. “I’m looking for the cocktail olives,” she said, voice far too light and airy for such an early hour. “Could you point me in the right direction, please?”</p><p>For a moment, John simply stared at her. She looked like something out of a magazine. Her long hair was swept elegantly across her shoulder and her light eyes seemed to shimmer in the overly bright fluorescent lighting. There was something indescribably familiar about her soft but striking features, something that felt both comforting and intimidating at the same time.</p><p>“Are you alright, sir?”</p><p>John felt a blush rise on his cheeks. “Y-yes,” he stammered; embarrassment heating the skin on the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Er— aisle four, near the pickles.”</p><p>The woman smiled warmly, as though John’s awkward fumbling hadn’t fazed her at all. “Would you mind showing me?” Her eyelashes fluttered and he felt his stomach flip pleasantly. “I hate to be a bother. It’s just that, well, I was just there, and I couldn’t find them.”</p><p>“Not at all,” he hastened, quickly standing straight and smiling back at her in an attempt to recover some shred of dignity. “Right this way.”  </p><p>“There they are!” She exclaimed when John pointed out the shop’s small selection. Her face lit up as she took two jars and placed them into her shopping bag. “Thank the gods. You are a lifesaver.”</p><p>John didn’t think he’d ever seen someone get so excited about cocktail olives before, but he preened like a praised puppy, nonetheless. “I’m happy to help, Ma’am.”</p><p>The woman paused and gave him an appraising look before lowering her eyes and letting out a chuckle. “You think I’ve gone mental, don’t you? Getting excited about olives at 5.00am?”</p><p>John blanched. “I—”</p><p>“It’s my boss,” she explained. Her eyes rolled playfully, and John felt another small jerk in his stomach. “He’s hosting international clients this afternoon and he likes to serve them drinks to loosen them up a bit before a big deal. I forgot the cocktail olives last time, and the old cog nearly went spare.”</p><p>“Thanks again,” she called. Turning on her heel with a quick wave, she rushed out of the shop. It took several minutes for John to realise that she hadn’t paid for the olives.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Jasper</b>
  </p>
</div>Jasper slipped stealthily through the streets, careful to avoid the lights as he darted between the darkened alleyways with a disillusionment charm placed on his cloak.<p>His excessive caution wasn’t necessary, he knew. He could have walked over in broad daylight if he’d wanted to—there wasn’t a single person on his tail—but he didn’t take risks.</p><p>This was a weekly endeavour; visiting Mrs Jones. Despite slipping Lupin magical suppression potions as often as possible, his Metamorphmagus abilities still rose to the surface from time to time. There wasn’t any need to Obliviate Lupin himself each time this happened. He thought that the morphing was a product of his brain injury—a delusion. </p><p>However, Mrs Jones was a particularly perceptive old Muggle. Twice now she’d witnessed him use accidental magic while he was sleeping, and Jasper had been rather lucky to Obliviate her before she mentioned it to John. </p><p>It was easy enough to get into her house. There were no forms of magical protection. A simple <i>Alohomora</i> granted him access. </p><p>There was no need to be quiet once he was inside. No matter how many silencing charms he produced, the cats sensed him immediately. He had no choice but to bind and gag the three of them, and Mrs Jones as soon as the door clicked open, lest he end up with another vase smashed over his head. </p><p>“Hello again, Mrs Jones,” Jasper greeted with a menacing smile. The old lady’s eyes narrowed and she began to struggle with the bonds around her wrists and ankles. “You don’t remember me, of course. But I know you quite well.” </p><p>She stopped struggling and fixed him with a hard stare. Jasper had no doubt that she would be cursing him if she could speak. Her lack of fear impressed him as much as it irritated him.</p><p>“Let’s try to do it quickly this time around, yeah?” Jasper took a seat on the sofa across from her and picked up one of the immobile cats from the floor. “I have a few questions for you. If you answer them, I’ll be on my way and you won’t be harmed. If you don’t, I’ll break every one of their furry little necks right in front of you.”</p><p>She flinched but nodded her head to show that she understood. </p><p>The last time he’d been here, it had taken the old hag nearly three hours of torture and threats to admit that she’d witnessed something strange about John. Jasper hoped, for <i>her</i> sake, that she cracked a little sooner this time. He really didn’t want to have to kill an animal, but he would.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>Ella was her name. That’s what she told John the next morning when she returned to the shop to frantically apologise and pay for the cocktail olives she had inadvertently stolen. John hadn’t minded, of course. He was just happy to see her again. Ella was the first person he’d had a conversation with—other than Chaz, Betty, and his doctors—since he’d been released from hospital.<p>She gave him her mobile number before she left, and he hadn’t really known what to do with that. Until he talked to Chaz.</p><p>
  <i>“Bro, if a pretty girl gives you her digits, she wants you to ask her out! Everybody knows that.”</i>
</p><p>John wasn’t sure he was quite ready to date. The idea of it felt overwhelming, and more than a little intimidating. But Chaz seemed to think it was a great idea, and so did Mrs Jones.</p><p><i>“I know you don’t know how old you are, Lad. But from the look of you, you’re old enough for a little fun.”</i> she said, waggling her eyebrows and sending him an exaggerated wink. </p><p>So, he tucked away his insecurities and asked her out to dinner (via text, he wasn’t actually brave enough to call), and to his surprise, she agreed.</p><p>The first date went much better than John had expected. Ella told him all about the financial company that she worked for and her insufferable, chauvinistic boss. Her true passion was fashion—which he didn’t know anything about, but he liked listening to her talk about the seamstress work she did on the side. It made her eyes twinkle.</p><p>Ella took the news of his memory loss and lack of knowledge about his past rather well. He had debated whether or not he should tell her so soon. He worried that it would be too much for her (or anyone, for that matter) to handle. Ultimately though, it felt deceptive not to say something.</p><p>Rather than regard him sympathetically, Ella had been hopeful.</p><p>
  <i>“Imagine all the things you’ll be able to rediscover. The whole world is ahead of you and there’s nothing holding you back!”</i>
</p><p>John didn’t entirely believe that. His own brain seemed to be holding him back. But it sounded nice to hear it from her.</p><p>Ella took him to cinemas, museums, and historical sites around London. She taught him about the monarchy and how she dreamed of designing a piece for Kate Middleton one day. She introduced him to the music of Ed Sheeran and Sam Smith; John pretended he liked them as well. They took walks through the park and ate ice-cream loaded with sprinkles, chocolate flakes and luridly coloured sauces. She even took him to H&amp;M to spruce up his wardrobe. That hadn’t been nearly as fun as the rest of it, but even he had to admit that Ella had good taste.</p><p>Most of the time Ella talked about herself; her interests, her friends and family, her dreams. John rarely got a word in edgewise. But he didn’t mind too much. It wasn’t as though he had much to contribute, anyway.</p><p>John liked dating Ella, it gave him something to look forward to—things to do and someone to miss when they weren’t around.</p><p>The only problem was, when he worked up the courage to kiss her goodnight, it only made him feel more empty.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>Just as James had predicted, Albus wasted no time whisking Scorpius off for a weekend in France. When they returned, Scorpius was sporting a soppy grin and a shiny new ring on his left finger.<p>Hearing the news had been easier than James had thought it would be. For as much as he wished it was him announcing his own engagement with Teddy beaming by his side, he was overcome with happiness for them. Albus deserved this, and the truth was, seeing the two of them gave James the smallest tinge of hope. He may not get his happily ever after, but he would be there to see Albus get his.</p><p>“He asked me to be his best man,” James announced proudly. “Scorpius couldn’t be the best man <i>and</i> the groom, I suppose.” There was a collective laugh and James shuffled his feet nervously, a small, hesitant smile gracing his lips.</p><p>He’d decided to come back to the support group, despite his initial misgivings. For a couple of sessions, he chose not to speak. He still wasn’t ready to talk about Teddy, but listening to the others made him feel less alone… less pathetic. They spoke of the mistakes they had made (before and after loss), they spoke about unhealthy coping mechanisms, and about learning to love themselves again. It hurt, and at times, it felt too real… too <i>familiar</i>.</p><p>Which is what made him realise that these people weren’t all that different from himself. They were there for the same reasons. To learn how to move on, to learn how to be themselves again, and most importantly, to relieve themselves—just a little bit—of the grief that weighed on them so heavily.</p><p>Today, when he was asked if he was ready to speak, he decided to talk about Albus instead. He told them about how Al had been there for him; about how seeing his brother move forward made him feel more optimistic about his own future.</p><p>“That’s wonderful, James,” the group leader, a soft spoken old lady with wispy grey hairs along her temple, said kindly. “Sometimes, when we see the people we love move on, it can make us feel envious or even resentful. Have you had any of those feelings?”</p><p>James frowned down at his hands and continued to shuffle his feet. “A bit,” he confessed. “I’ve thought about what it might have been like if me and… well, if <i>we</i> had made it that far. I know it’s not healthy to ponder…”</p><p>“It’s perfectly natural to wonder what might have been,” she replied. “However, it’s important to accept your new reality. I know this is difficult, but have you tried imagining that scenario with someone else?”</p><p>James felt his jaw tense reflexively. The hands in his lap balled into fists and the muscles in his back tightened. “No.” He was surprised by how even his tone was. “There isn’t anyone else for me... there never has been, and there never will be. It’s only ever been Teddy.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Harry</b>
  </p>
</div>While Harry had never been very comfortable with his fame, he had to admit that there were times when being The Chosen One came in handy. It meant that he had friends in high places, many of whom were more than happy to grant him favours.<p>It felt underhanded to use those connections for personal gain. On the few times he had, it had left him feeling slimy and more than a little manipulative. However, when it came to Teddy—as it would with any of his children—Harry was willing to move mountains to find the answers he required.</p><p>And that’s what lead him here, to Headmistress McGonagall’s office, preparing to ask her for a favour that was not only illegal, but also highly unethical.</p><p>It was Neville who had given him the idea to come to Hogwarts, despite Hermione’s disapproval.</p><p>When Harry had left Audrey’s office that day, the first thing he’d done was meet Hermione, Ron, and Neville for a pre-arranged lunch date. He had been so overwhelmed at the time, that he quickly found himself confiding in them the details of the meeting. </p><p>Each of them had ideas. Hermione suggested that Harry question Teddy’s friends and co-workers for leads. It was a good suggestion, but ultimately, Harry wasn’t prepared to go around picking random people’s brains for personal details. That could get back to James, and he couldn’t risk giving his heartbroken son any false promises or hope; he was only just starting to heal.</p><p>Ron suggested that they check the Metamorphmagus registry. It was public record. If Teddy had an heir, there was a chance the child would be listed there (Ron was really quite brilliant). Unfortunately, it was a short list, and none of the people there fit the profile they were looking for. It was an optional registry, after all, and most people didn’t bother unless they needed magical assistance in the Muggle World (like Teddy had sometimes needed during the summers before he turned seventeen), or if it was required for their jobs.</p><p>“Mr Potter,” McGonagall said warmly, waving towards the seat across from her desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”</p><p>“Professor.” Harry nodded cordially and took his seat. He hoped that he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. It was true that McGonagall had something of a soft spot for him, but that didn’t mean she would take kindly to this particular request. “I have a favour to ask,” he said. There was no point in beating around the bush. “Off the record.”</p><p>McGonagall looked surprised. “Surely there is someone more qualified, Harry. Law enforcement isn’t exactly my forté.”</p><p>“It’s not about work,” Harry rushed to clarify. “It’s about Teddy.”</p><p>Her eyes grew wide, and an unmistakable glint of pain flashed through them. “Mr Lupin?”</p><p>“We think…” Harry paused and took a deep breath. “We think it’s possible that Teddy had a child. A child that we didn’t know about… and perhaps he didn’t know about. An heir.”</p><p>“Heavens,” McGonagall whispered. “A child? What an absolute blessing. Are you quite sure?”</p><p>Harry shook his head. He wouldn’t have used the word blessing. It felt more like a tragedy. “It’s just a theory. I was hoping you could help me confirm it.”</p><p>“Of course,” she said kindly. “What can I do?”</p><p>Harry decided to just out with it. “I wondered if you could… maybe, check The Book?”</p><p>McGonagall’s mouth dropped open. Whatever she was expecting him to ask, it clearly wasn’t this.</p><p>‘The Book’ was an ancient magical text, thought to have been created by the Hogwarts founders themselves. Its existence wasn’t common knowledge—only Professors and high-ranking Ministry officials knew what it was—but only Headmasters and Headmistresses knew how to use it.</p><p>“Blasphemy!” the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black shouted incredulously. Several other portraits stopped pretending to sleep and muttered their agreement.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Harry, but I must agree,” McGonagall said, shaking her head sadly. “It’s unprecedented to utilise The Book in such a way. There are rules, protocols set in place thousands of years ago to protect the Magical children of the British Isles.”</p><p>“I understand, Professor,” Harry urged desperately. “But if Teddy did have a child, their name would be in that book, along with every other eligible Magical child born here! It’s the only way to know for certain.”</p><p>“Might I interject?” A deep, familiar drawl rang out, and Harry didn’t need to turn to know who was speaking. “It seems that Potter still believes himself to be above the rules. He thinks something as trivial as a few centuries of magical law and tradition are beneath him. Tell me Potter, is the possible descendant of Lupin so important that you feel it necessary to transcend beyond the magical bounds of this school to find them? Another foolish prophecy, perhaps?”</p><p>McGonagall turned to him with an alarmed expression. Harry dipped his head in shame. “There’s no prophecy,” he admitted. Snape’s portrait tutted.</p><p>“The Book doesn’t reveal parentage or blood status. It simply lists the names. Even if another Lupin appeared on the roster, I wouldn’t be able to disclose it to you.”</p><p>Harry’s body sagged. “Is there anything you can tell me?”</p><p>The Headmistress seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “I can tell you that none of the current students fit the bill. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”</p><p>Thoroughly defeated, Harry said goodbye and made to leave. But just before he tossed the Floo powder into the flames, Snape spoke again. “St Mungo’s.” </p><p>Harry turned on his heel just in time to catch the man scoff. “Before the war, St Mungo’s kept a record of all children born with one eighth or more Werewolf DNA—for medical research conducted in the Department of Mysteries. The Dark Lord used it to manipulate several Ministry employees into doing his bidding.”</p><p>“That’s horrific,” Harry said, appalled.</p><p>“Be that as it may,” Snape replied with a scowl. “You might find the spawn you are looking for, if the data is still being collected.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>When James posted the ‘help wanted’ sign in the window of The Leaky Cauldron, he hadn’t expected to receive very many applicants. The odd hours left something to be desired, and the pay was marginal at best. Therefore, he’d been surprised when he received no less than twenty CVs, all with a wide variety of work experience and backgrounds.<p>Initially, he’d been apprehensive about hiring his first employee. But now, he was starting to become excited about it. What should have been a daunting task—reading through a stack of boring CVs—turned out to be fascinating, and ultimately left James with more questions than he’d ever thought to consider before.</p><p>Should he hire the woman with fifteen years of kitchen experience, who wouldn’t need much supervision? Or, should he go with the aspiring cook with no work history at all, who he could train and mentor like an apprentice?</p><p>Mary was a mother of six who had never worked a day in her life outside of the home, but she could cook a meal in half an hour with one baby on her hip and two more tugging at her apron strings (according to the summary at the top of the page). Davey was a Squib, who had been a bartender at the Hog’s Head for the last five years. It seemed like he just wanted to work somewhere closer to the Muggle world, where he felt more comfortable. And Lou, well, Lou had just left Hogwarts and apparently thought that his love of food and beer counted as ample qualification for the job.</p><p>Naturally, James wanted to hire them all. But he couldn’t. So, he decided to ask someone a bit more cynical than himself for help.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Jamie.” Albus’ remorseful voice rang through the Floo. “I can’t today. I’ve been called into work.”</p><p>James groaned petulantly at his brother’s face in the embers of the fire. “I can’t do this on my own, Al,” he whined. “I need your Slytherin-y-ness… Slytherism?”</p><p>Albus laughed knowingly. “Let me guess. You need help weeding out the idiots?”</p><p>“Exactly!” James exclaimed, before realising what he’d said. “Wait… no! That’s not what I meant. I need—"</p><p>“You’re right though. You do need a Slytherin,” Albus interjected, matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry, Scorpius is free.”</p><p>“No—”</p><p>Before James could protest further, Albus disappeared from the fire and Scorpius’ overly posh face appeared in his place. “I’m happy to help, James. Give me a moment and I’ll be right over.”</p><p>The Floo connection disconnected abruptly, and James cursed out loud. The last thing he needed was an afternoon spent alone with Scorpius <i>‘did you know that raw honey is an excellent source of antioxidants’</i> Malfoy. Technically, he was a Slytherin as well, but he acted more like a Ravenclaw who’d indulged in the Hufflepuffs’ pot stash a few too many times.  </p><p>An hour later, James was humbly swallowing his skepticism along with a delicious, honey-infused Earl Grey that Scorpius had brewed for him. As it turned out, Scorpius was a natural at this sort of thing. He’d easily narrowed down the applicants to the five most promising candidates and given James a ton of useful tips for interviewing the finalists.</p><p>“You can easily tell if someone is being dishonest by their body language,” he explained as James eagerly took down notes. “Excessive swallowing or throat clearing, hiding their mouth with their hand, that sort of thing.”</p><p>“You should teach a class,” James said seriously. “How did you learn all this anyway?”</p><p>Scorpius blushed at the subtle compliment. “When you’re raised by a man who doesn’t trust his own shadow, you pick up a thing or two.”</p><p>“I bet,” James responded. “Well, it looks like I’m all set. I’m sure you have other things you would rather be doing, so I’ll let you get back to it. Thanks for your help.”</p><p>“I don’t have anything else planned,” Scorpius said much too eagerly. <i>Bugger.</i> “I’ve been meaning to ask you how the meetings are going.”</p><p>James sighed inwardly. He should have known Scorpius would want to talk about the support group. “Er— you know, it’s fine,” James said, shifting in his seat nervously.</p><p>Scorpius smiled kindly and reached over to pat James’ hand. “I know it’s not exactly fun, especially at first. But it can be good for you, if you let it be.”</p><p>He was right, James knew. But that didn’t make it any less weird. “I know. It’s still hard to talk about out loud. I’ll get there. I’ve already made some… changes. Changes for the better, I mean.”</p><p>“That’s wonderful to hear!” Scorpius exclaimed with an encouraging nod. “Albus has been telling me about the plans you have for the pub. He’s so proud of you.”</p><p>“Um, yeah…” James ignored the prickle in his nose. The last thing he wanted to do was compromise his fragile masculinity by sniffling in front of Malfoy, who would inevitably try to comfort him—or worse—give him a hug. <i>Urgh.</i></p><p>“It’s not just the pub, though,” he continued, intent on proving to Scorpius that he was A-Okay, and definitely didn’t need a brotherly bonding moment. “I’ve been drinking less and going out more. I’m happier than I’ve been in ages, really.”</p><p>Scorpius gave him a look of sympathetic disbelief. James’ toes curled with irritation.</p><p>“Honestly, I’m great,” he asserted. “I hardly ever send my Patronus out anymore—”</p><p>James clamped his mouth shut abruptly, but it was too late. Scorpius’ eyes had already gone wide with alarm.</p><p>“You… you’ve been sending your Patronus out to Teddy?” He asked anxiously. “But that’s… Do you even know where it goes?”</p><p>“I…” James squirmed, his face burning with shame. “It just takes off. I’m sure it evaporates as soon as it’s out of my sight.”</p><p>“Possibly,” Scorpius said, although he clearly wasn’t convinced. “I think you should be careful. A Patronus without a clearly specified destination or point of contact could potentially go anywhere. I haven’t read anything about it. But if a Muggle were to see it…”</p><p>“I know,” James insisted, waving his hand dismissively. He wasn’t going to sit through a lecture from Scorpius of all people. “I’m not sending it out into the streets of London. It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>Scorpius didn’t look at all reassured, but much to James’ relief, he changed the subject anyway. Or rather, to his momentary relief. Ten minutes into Scorpius’ passionate retelling of the Goblin War reenactment he’d recently seen, James decided he’d rather be lectured about his improper use of magic, after all.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Jasper</b>
  </p>
</div>Jasper frowned at his watch and tutted over the silence in the firelit sitting room. Brody—he and Druella’s unfortunate accomplice—was late. Again.<p>For the life of him, he couldn’t fully understand why their Ministry partner had chosen Brody to help execute their plan. He was inarticulate, careless, and woefully incompetent. Although, maybe that was part of the reason. It was certainly going to make it a lot easier for Jasper to dispose of the insufferable man when the time came. Brody’s shady, back-alley dealings had him in hot water with several unsavoury characters. When he eventually did disappear, there would be so many people with motive, the Ministry wouldn’t know where to start their investigation; if they bothered to investigate at all.  </p><p>It was twenty past when Brody finally shuffled through the Floo, looking shaggy and out of place on the pristine marble hearth. </p><p>“Sorry about the delay,” he grunted as he carelessly brushed ashes onto the floor. “I got caught up with an old business partner. How about a drink, eh?”</p><p>Jasper narrowed his eyes and glanced over at Dru, who was clutching her wine glass a bit too tightly, not bothering to keep the look of utter disdain off her face.</p><p>“This isn’t a social visit,” Jasper drawled, gently swirling his own glass of scotch. “You’ve wasted quite enough of our time already. What information do you have for me?”</p><p>Brody frowned at the rude remark but seemed to think better about retorting. “I’m delivering a message from our mutual partner. He says to tell you that Potter has met with his solicitor. He says you’ll know what that means.”</p><p>Jasper nodded curtly—they’d been expecting this. “Yes. Anything else?”</p><p>Brody scrunched his nose and turned his head up slightly, like a child trying to remember the answer to a simple exam question. “Uh, yeah,” he said after a pause. “The next day, Potter requested a copy of the meta— metamoreagus registry.”</p><p>“Metamorphmagus,” Dru corrected coldly. Her sharp voice cut through the air like a knife, causing the vagrant to recoil slightly.</p><p>“R-right,” he stuttered. “Those people that change shapes and shite. People like Lupin. What do you reckon he wants with that?”</p><p>“I don’t imagine speculation is in your job description, Brody,” Jasper replied evenly. “Now, if that’s all—”</p><p>“Does this mean Potter is onto us?” Brody interjected. “Because I didn’t sign up to having the head of the DMLE sniffing around my heels. My only job was to deliver Lupin.”</p><p>“A job that you thoroughly botched!” Druella cried indignantly. Blonde ringlets fell from the tight bun atop her head and her nostrils flared with anger. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for your ineptitude. The absolute nerve—”</p><p>“Dru.” Jasper shot her a stern look and held up a deft hand to silence her before turning back to Brody. “Please inform our partner that Lupin is sufficiently contained. Additional protections will be afforded in light of this new development. If there is nothing more, you may see yourself out.”</p><p>Brody wasted no time collecting a handful of Floo powder and dashing through the fireplace, leaving behind a pile of ashes and mud from his grimy, battered boots.</p><p>Druella threw back her glass of Merlot—swallowing it down like a shot of liquor—then took the bottle from the end table and drank directly from it. “I can’t wait to see that loathsome man dead at my feet,” she breathed through gritted, wine stained teeth.</p><p>“It’s only a matter of time, my dear,” Jasper said.</p><p>“We’ve run out of time.” Druella leaned back on the stark white, antiquated sofa and laughed hysterically. “Potter <i>knows.</i> With his resources, he’ll find John before the week is out.”</p><p>With a triumphant grin, Jasper sat down beside her and took her jewelled hand into his own. “Potter knows he can’t claim Lupin’s assets. But he doesn’t know that Lupin is still alive.”</p><p>Druella raised a skeptical eyebrow. “How can you know that?” she asked.</p><p>“He’s looking for a newly registered Metamorphmagus, Dru. He’s looking for an <i>heir</i>. The money is as good as ours.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>If John had ever been more tired in his life, he couldn’t remember it. He’d spent his entire shift, plus a few extra hours, unloading a massive delivery of vegetables. His body ached with exertion by the time he clocked out and began the short walk home.<p>The only thing that had kept him going through the night was the return of the little terrier. It had visited for the first time in weeks, and stayed longer than it ever had before. It didn’t speak. Rather, it seemed to be content to simply skip around John’s heels, wagging its tail playfully. </p><p>He supposed that on some subconscious level, he’d called the dog to him. It seemed only logical that he would seek out its comfort, given how uneasy he’d been feeling lately.</p><p>The main source of his recent tension was his relationship with Ella, who John had been seeing more and more frequently. Not because she’d done anything wrong, quite the contrary, Ella was lovely in just about every way. The problem was, John couldn’t bring himself to return her affections properly. He liked her, he enjoyed spending time with her, and there was no denying her exceptional beauty. So why didn’t he want to be more intimate with her? </p><p>Ella clearly wanted to. She’d been dropping hints for weeks; hints that were becoming less and less subtle. But every time they got close—when their kisses became heated and their hands began to wander—something within John would falter and he’d become overwhelmed with an indescribable sense of foreboding. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves, insecurity, or something else entirely that held him back. All he knew was that he wasn’t quite ready, and he feared that he wouldn’t be for some time yet.</p><p>Despite his exhaustion, John knew that he wasn’t likely to get any sleep with his mind racing and his stomach growling with hunger. He walked past the house—where he knew Betty would still be curled up in bed with the cats—and down a few more streets until he spotted a small twenty-four-hour café.  </p><p>John didn’t hesitate before collapsing into a chair at the nearest table and ordering a full English breakfast with extra eggs, bacon, and fried bread. The waiter chuckled as he took the order, but John was used to that. His appetite had always been a source of amusement for the hospital staff. </p><p>“The cook bet me a fiver that you couldn’t finish all that,” the waiter said with a smile when he came over to collect the empty plates. “Looks I’m five pounds richer.”</p><p>John blushed at the man’s blatantly flirty tone. “I… er— had a long night at work,” he explained, suddenly embarrassed by his gluttony. </p><p>“No need to explain, handsome,” he replied with a wink. “I like a man with a healthy appetite.” And with that he sauntered away, swaying his arse suggestively. John nearly choked on air before scrambling out of his chair and practically running out of the café. </p><p>It wasn’t the first time he’d <i>looked</i> at a man, and part of him reckoned he ought to take some time to consider what that meant. However, another—much louder—part of him didn’t want to think about anything that might complicate his life any further. Maybe he was a little bit bisexual. Did it really matter? Perhaps in his other life he’d been one of those people who marched in parades and wore clothes with colourful rainbow flags. But he didn’t feel like that type of guy now. </p><p>Or, maybe he was another type of guy entirely. John paused—like he did everyday—when he reached the church down the street from his house. His eyes followed the line of the spire up skyward and he found himself wondering whether he had been religious... whether he had once frequented a beautiful old building like this one. </p><p>He had just dragged his eyes back to ground level when he heard a strikingly familiar voice. His head whipped around, trying to find the dog, but it was nowhere to be seen. </p><p>Confused, he took another step, only to be met by the sound again, clearer this time.</p><p>Curiously, John moved towards where the voice had come from and noticed a non-assuming porta-cabin wedged inelegantly into a gap beside the church, a shabby sign reading ‘community hall’ stuck above the entrance. The familiarity of the tone caused John to move closer, and he suddenly found he had bypassed the entrance and concealed himself below an open window.</p><p>“I—” It only took one broken syllable for John’s skin to prickle with anticipation. He recognised the voice, and now there was no swirling hallucination. “—I… no. I don’t think I can just yet. He… it’s not… no.” The voice wavered between a whisper and hoarse, but clear words.</p><p>“That’s quite alright. We all heal in different ways, and at different paces. There’s no right or wrong way.” This time, it was a woman speaking in a kind, slightly patronising voice. It was similar to the way his therapist had spoken to him when they’d first started seeing each other. “Can you tell us how you’ve been coping since the last time we spoke?”</p><p>There was a pause, and John waited with bated breath for the man to respond, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. </p><p>“I still drink more than I should,” the man said. “I know it’s not healthy but… it numbs some of the pain away, just for a little bit.” John could hear a murmur of assent from the other people in the room. </p><p>John drew himself as close to the window as possible and continued to listen, his curiosity brimming. How was it possible that this stranger sounded so similar to the terrier? It had to be a coincidence, and yet…</p><p>Slowly, John lifted his head just enough to peak into the room without being spotted. His breath caught in his throat when he saw him. </p><p>He was stunning. His deep auburn hair fell just below his chin in soft, shiny waves. He looked young, judging by the light spray of freckles across his nose, but his shoulders were nearly as broad as John’s. Young, but definitely no longer a boy. His jaw was sharp, and he was built like a football player—the type of guy you might expect to see in one of the romantic comedies that Ella loved so much. However, his eyes were dim and his body was slumped, as though the world had beaten him down into a smaller version of himself. </p><p>There was something strikingly familiar about him that caused John’s stomach to coil uncomfortably. But try as he might, John couldn’t place it. No images of long lost memories popped into his head, nor was he reminded of anything in particular as he watched on. </p><p>Except for Chaz’s words… <i>‘no one came looking for you.’</i></p><p>All of the sudden, John’s stomach turned sour. </p><p>As quickly as he could, he ducked out of the brush beneath the window and headed home, desperately trying to stop his thoughts from racing through thousands of unlikely conclusions. He was sleep-deprived, he just needed his bed, and if he was lucky, Betty would have spag bol simmering on the stove when he woke.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>A cold chill bit at James’ cheeks, causing him to shudder as he walked along the shrubbery path towards the graves of Andromeda and Ted Tonks. The cemetery was quiet, but not in the eerie way that James might have expected. Rather, it was somehow peaceful and calming. When he approached the stone markers, he pulled out his wand and conjured a wreath of poinsettias to lay between them. Ted Tonks had died years before James was born, during the Wizarding War, but his Aunt Andy had been a part of his life throughout his childhood. He’d loved the spunky old woman like family.<p>James had often suspected that he was her favourite of the Weasley-Potter kids. Probably because he spent the most time at her house as a kid, trailing behind Teddy and stuffing himself to the brim with her homemade pastries. His suspicions had been confirmed the Easter before she died, when she pulled James aside with a wink and whispered, <i>‘Don’t give up kid. He’s as stubborn as his father, but he’ll come around eventually.’</i> She’d turned and walked away, after, as if nothing had happened.</p><p>Andromeda had passed six months later, comfortable and more than ready to be reunited with her late husband. She could possibly have lived another ten years, if she’d been willing to undergo a few years of strenuous magical and non-magical treatment for her rare, genetic disease. But she’d decided that seventy-four years on this earth was quite enough, <i>thank you very much.</i></p><p>Understandably, Teddy had been crushed, but he’d had plenty of time to process it beforehand. Ultimately, he’d made his peace with his Gran’s decision.</p><p>With a fond yet bittersweet smile at her headstone, James turned and walked to the next marker. </p><p>This one was larger and had two names written across it: Remus Lupin and Nymphadora ‘Tonks’ Lupin; Teddy’s mum and dad. It was with a somewhat heavier—guiltier—heart that James constructed a second wreath.  </p><p>The truth was, James had harboured a slight ill-will toward them since he was six years old. It was Teddy’s twelfth birthday, during his first summer back from Hogwarts, when James found him curled up behind a flutterby bush sniffling into the sleeve of his t-shirt. James had been confused by Teddy’s sadness. There was cake and Teddy had just been gifted his first racing broom!</p><p>“Come on, Teddy,” James had urged. “The other kids are starting a game of hide-and-seek. Don’t you want to play?” </p><p>Teddy had shaken his head sadly and told James to go away, that he didn’t want to play or ride his new broomstick because his mum and dad weren’t there to teach him how.</p><p>Before that moment, James had never really thought too much about the fact that Teddy’s parents were dead. But after that, he couldn’t help but be angry at them for it; for making Teddy sad. </p><p>“Why didn’t they stay home with Teddy instead of fighting?” James had asked his father later that night. “Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do?” </p><p>Harry had smiled sadly and draped the duvet over his chest. “You’ll understand when you're older, Jamie. And so will Ted.”</p><p>Ultimately though, James hadn’t been able to shake the dull sense of resentment he felt every time he thought of them. They could have stayed home that night. They could have put their son first, right?</p><p>“Jamie,” Teddy had offered kindly, when James admitted these feelings on their third date. “Don’t you see? They <i>did</i> put me first. If it weren’t for them and everyone else who fought, we wouldn’t be here. I’m proud to be their son, and one day, I’ll be able to tell them so.” </p><p>James wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he fell even more in love with Teddy that day. </p><p>“Did you tell them, Teddy?” James asked aloud, as he turned his head to the final stone in the row. This one was newer—still bright and shiny—not yet having succumbed to the deterioration of time and weather. </p><p>James walked over and sat down in front of it, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them protectively. He hadn’t been here since the memorial service, having been too afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle it. He also hadn’t seen the point, since Teddy’s body wasn’t actually there. But some of the people at the support group had encouraged him to give it a try nonetheless. He didn’t truly believe talking to a piece of carved stone would make him feel any better. Although it was safer than sending his Patronus out whenever he felt the urge to talk. It was a miracle he hadn’t been brought before the Statue of Secrecy board yet. </p><p>“Teds,” James breathed. He felt like a twat talking to thin air (his Patronus at least had a form) but he forced himself to continue. “Sorry I look so tousled. Albus says the five o’clock shadow and long hair make me look distinguished. Mum says I look like a drifter.” James chuckled a little despite himself. “Soon I’ll be able to tie it into a ponytail like Uncle Bill. And before you start teasing, no. Imitation is <i>not</i> the highest form of flattery. I outgrew my crush on him when I was eight… Okay fine, I was eleven. Still, it’s not that weird.” James sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw.</p><p>“I think you’d like what I’ve done with the pub. Albus has started helping me out recently with the renovations. At first, I thought all of the brilliant colour scheme and decorating ideas were his own. I should have known they were actually Scorpius’.” He shook his head. “That kid is the smartest guy I’ve ever met, and you know I don’t care for gay sterotypes or whatever, but Scorpius Malfoy is the physical embodiment of flamboyant. He wore a flower crown to a pride march a few months ago!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. </p><p>“Merlin, it was hilarious. I suppose it was cute though.” James paused. Horrified, he felt his ears begin to burn red even though no one was around. “I didn’t mean cute like <i>cute.</i> Urg. That’s so gross. I meant, cute like he and Albus are cute <i>together…”</i></p><p>“Bloody hell,” he moaned dramatically into the wind. “That’s even worse, isn’t it? I meant that they aren’t that bad… most of the time. The wedding stuff is pretty painful. I have to wear a lilac tie and waistcoat. <i>Lilac.</i> He doesn’t even have the decency to call it what it is—<i>purple!</i> I’m only going because they’re letting me help cater the cocktail hour.” James saw Teddy’s knowing smirk in his mind's eye and he smiled. They both knew that wasn’t the only reason. “There’s also the best man business. Did I tell you that I'm going to be Al’s best man? He’s going to flip when I tell him that I’ve hired an exotic dancer for his stag party. I figured that Albus should see at least <i>one</i> other cock before he gets hitched.”</p><p>“Not that he’s likely to appreciate it, mind you.” The thought of his brother’s horrified expression brought forth another laugh. “He’s going to kill me—”</p><p>James paused again, and suddenly, his tongue felt too large for his mouth. What was he doing here? Foolishly talking to a stone like it was really Teddy... as though the love of his life hadn’t been brutally murdered and ripped away from him? </p><p>James turned away from the grave, fresh tears blurring his vision, and his eyes landed once again on Remus and Tonks’ headstone. “You became an Auror because of them,” he whispered, his tone accusatory. “You thought you were making the world a better place. But you didn’t, Teddy. You died and left someone behind. Just like they left you behind.” </p><p>He wanted to be angry. Part of him wanted to scream; to kick and stomp the useless stone marker until it broke. But he didn’t. Instead, James drew in a few deep breaths and rested his chin on his knees. </p><p>“Dad’s been a bit aloof lately,” he continued, as if he hadn’t nearly melted down. “I think he’s overwhelmed at work. I wish he’d just quit, and maybe teach or something. He’d be good at that. Lily’s been working round the clock with a new dragon whelp…” </p><p>He talked for another hour or so, telling Teddy everything that had been happening in life. He would never admit it to anyone, but it did feel freeing to just unload, even if no one was listening…</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Harry</b>
  </p>
</div>Harry tended to avoid the Department of Mysteries. He did have to deal with the Unspeakables from time to time; they worked closely with the DMLE. But whenever possible, he had memos sent up, or he sent an assistant down for inquiries. Even now, nearly three decades later, he hadn’t forgotten the trauma he’d experienced that night. <i>The loss.</i> It was hard enough seeing the spiralling scars that roped up and down Ron’s arms. It was another thing entirely to walk within the ominous walls.<p>That’s why he invited Draco out for tea rather than meeting him in his office. By this point, no one would find it unusual to catch the two of them out and about. The news of Albus and Scorpius’ impending wedding had been splashed across the tabloids for weeks. If a journalist wandered their way, they would probably think he and Draco were comparing fabric swatches for the table linens.</p><p>Not that Harry wanted to be involved in <i>that</i> nightmare. As far as he was concerned, there was only one—<i>singular</i>—shade of white. If Malfoy wanted to have that soul-crushingly boring debate with Molly, well, that was his prerogative.</p><p>“It’s a dead end,” Draco asserted, lazily stirring a sugar cube into his teacup.</p><p>Harry glanced around nervously. The gaudy tea shop that Draco picked was the last place he would have chosen; a pub with greasy chips and beer on tap was more his style.</p><p>“A dead end?” Harry repeated flatly. “Don’t they still keep a record?”</p><p>Draco leaned back in his chair, giving Harry a bored expression. “Of course we still keep a record, Potter. There isn’t anyone on it.”</p><p>“That seems unlikely,” Harry countered, careful to keep the tension out of his voice. “Surely th—”</p><p>“Let me clarify,” Draco said tersely. “There isn’t anyone else on it below the age of thirty. Witches and wizards have never been particularly fond of mating with werewolves, and seeing as the war wiped most of them out…”</p><p>Harry swallowed hard. “Are you saying Teddy is the last?”</p><p>“I’m saying he was the last child born in St Mungo’s with more than twelve percent Werewolf DNA, yes.”</p><p>Harry’s mind raced. How was it possible that the heir hadn’t shown up on the Unspeakables’ list or the Metamorphmagus registry? Was the child a Squib? Or born to an unknown Muggle? Was their mother hiding them away? Did this have anything to do with Teddy’s disappearance? None of these things seemed very likely, but anything was possible. </p><p>“Why are you following these dead ends, Potter? Wasn’t he was dating your eldest when he died? What are the chances he had some unknown love child?”</p><p>Harry scoffed. <i>Love child.</i> The very idea was laughable. Yet, here he was, chasing this imaginary dragon. Because the alternative was unthinkable.  </p><p>"Listen, Potter." Draco's tense expression morphed into a sympathetic frown. "I understand what it's like to cling to something you love. I did everything I could to save Astoria, and when it was too late, I clung to Scorpius. Now that he's left the nest, I don't know what do with myself. But that's life. Sometimes, we just have to accept it and move on." </p><p>"Yeah." Harry bit his tongue to keep from tearing up. "You're right." </p><p>"That being said, I'm willing to help you in anyway that I can. Something stinks here, Potter, and for once, it isn't you." </p><p>Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but smile. "Thanks," he said begrudgingly. Malfoy had access to resources that even he wasn't privy to. If the two of them couldn't crack the case, no one could.</p><p>“I presume you’ll be taking care of the check,” Malfoy replied, with the slightest twitch of a grin. “It <i>is</i> customary for the father of the bride to finance pre-wedding expenses, after all.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Jasper</b>
  </p>
</div>Teddy Lupin was one of the wealthiest men in the Wizarding World—although you wouldn’t know it at first glance. Lupin worked as a measly public servant; a mid-level Auror who lived in a modest flat and wore plain clothing. He ate at cheap pubs, walked around in scuffed boots, and didn’t know the difference between a finely aged scotch and a tankard of watered-down ale.<p>He was incredibly well connected due to his relationship with Harry Potter, but relatively unknown among the wider wizarding society. He had no wife, no children, and an estate worth more than 100 million gallons… the unlikely heir to the Black fortune.</p><p>Teddy Lupin was an undiscovered gold mine: a perfect target.</p><p>The initial plan was relatively simple. They would take him, hold him long enough for the Ministry to legally claim his assets, then dispose of him discreetly so that the Ministry’s claim couldn’t be challenged. Jasper’s Ministry contact would receive the funding he needed, and Jasper would walk away with a pile of gold for himself.</p><p>The trouble was… things hadn’t quite gone to plan. Brody—the bleeding imbecile—had one job. One job that he had thoroughly mucked up from the very beginning.</p><p>They’d never intended for Lupin to be harmed. At least, not until it was the right time to kill him. They’d certainly never intended for the Muggle authorities to find and hospitalise him, but they had no way to keep him alive themselves, and therefore, no choice but to leave him where he was until he recovered. </p><p>Lupin’s memory loss had been a happy accident.</p><p>When the time came for Lupin to be released, they’d argued about what to do with him. Druella had wanted to lock him up in the cellar immediately, and Jasper had agreed that this was the safest plan. However, their Ministry contact had refused. He was afraid that the Muggles, who were now aware of Lupin’s existence, would go looking for him if he went missing. They didn’t have magical tracking tools, of course, but they had other ways of locating missing people. They posted their pictures in newspapers and aired them on the telly. They sent their police out looking for them and questioned known contacts. And while some witches and wizards kept exclusively to the Magical world, many of them didn’t—especially the young Muggle-borns, who all seemed to own televisions and personal mobile phones. </p><p>It had been hard enough for them to keep Lupin’s image out of the media when he had first been found. It would be impossible to do so if he were lost again. </p><p>So, they decided to keep him close and diligently monitored. Betty Jones had been Jasper’s idea. She was old, fairly reclusive, and lived nearby. They could easily keep track of Lupin’s movements as long as he stayed with her. Jasper hadn’t even needed to trick the lonely old bat into agreeing to house a stranger. She’d been nothing but enthusiastic about the idea. </p><p>The supermarket had been Brody’s only good idea. “He’ll want a job, so have him work nights,” he’d suggested. “He won’t come across as many folks.” Of course, Brody <i>would</i> know how best to avoid people. He’d been avoiding people that wanted to see him dead his whole life. </p><p>It was Druella who had come up with the best way to keep Lupin at bay. She’d created Ella. It was brilliant, really. Teddy Lupin’s publicised relationship with Victoire Weasley gave them the perfect insight into the type of girl that he was attracted to: tall, blonde, and self-absorbed. </p><p>Ella could keep Lupin distracted while simultaneously steering him in whatever direction benefitted them. She knew well where the witches and wizards of Muggle London tended to congregate and made sure to keep Lupin away from them. </p><p>Yes, it was a brilliant idea. Until it wasn’t. </p><p>“I think we may have missed something,” she said as she stepped inside and slid out of her coat. Jasper could hear a hint of frustration in her voice. </p><p>“Hmmm,” he asked lazily, kissing her cheek. “And what might that be?” </p><p>Druella heaved a sigh and sat down on the sofa to remove her pumps. She was returning from a date with Lupin, in which she had taken him to the London Eye. “I don’t think…” She paused and sighed again. “I don’t think he’s attracted to me.” </p><p>Jasper chuckled lightly and Druella glared at him in response. “Does that amuse you?” she snapped. </p><p>“What amuses me is how you could ever think a man wouldn’t be attracted to you,” he said honestly. Dru was gorgeous, and now with her hair bleached blonde, she could easily be mistaken for a Veela. “What makes you think that Lupin is any different from all the other men that grovel at your feet?” </p><p>Rather than smiling at the compliment, her frown grew more pronounced. “He seems to enjoy my company,” she said thoughtfully. “However, my romantic advances have yet to land. I’m beginning to wonder if imitating Weasley was the right way to go about this.” </p><p>“Nonsense,” Jasper argued. “He was with her for at least five years. And although he didn’t seem to date much after that, the few women he was seen with had a similar enough look. Ella is exactly his type.” </p><p>Dru bit her lip, obviously unsure how to proceed with whatever was on her mind. “Perhaps,” she said after a long moment. “It’s just that, well, when we kiss he doesn’t seem to be all that enthusiastic about it. And not once in the last two months has he implied that he’s interested in going any further. To be perfectly honest, I think he might b—”</p><p>“He’s just insecure,” Jasper bit out, hating the way her words had made his insides burn with jealousy. He and Dru had been sexually involved for quite some time, but at the end of the day, she was nothing more than a pawn to him; a means to an end. If she had to fuck Lupin to keep him in line, then so be it. “You’ve clearly not put enough effort into seducing him. If he breaks things off with you, we will have less control over him. Now that Potter is sniffing about, we can’t afford to take that risk.” </p><p>“I know the stakes as well as you do, Jaz.” Druella stood and met his cold stare with a fiery scowl. “But if my intuition is correct, you’ve got more chance of <i>seducing</i> Lupin than <i>I</i> do! He’s a bloody closet case!”</p><p>“A what?” Jasper demanded sharply. It was a rhetorical question. Of course he knew what ‘a closet case’ was. But there was no evidence... “It’s not possible. You clearly haven’t been aggressive enough. Wine and dine him, get a room at a romantic inn, suck his cock until he’s eating out of your hand. I don’t care how you do it, just fucking do it.” </p><p>And with that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. Druella wouldn’t follow him right away, but she wouldn’t leave either. She was just as deep into this as he was.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>John woke abruptly in a cold sweat. His heart was pounding in his chest and there was a low throbbing in his temple. Blinking in the early afternoon light, he sat up and rubbed his forehead, attempting to recall the details of the dream he’d just woken from.<p>He had been in an oddly constructed house, full of faceless people mingling about. John had been sitting in a cushioned chair, laughing at a chess piece that was dancing around on the board in front of him. When he looked up, he saw the man from the support group smiling at him from across the room, a laugh etched into his handsome features.</p><p>“Come on, Blue Bear, don’t you want to go for a ride with me?”</p><p>Suddenly, the room around him grew darker, and the other people vanished. “I’ve told you already,” John had replied. “I can’t go flying without my mum and dad.”</p><p>The man stopped smiling and began to cry. “Aren’t you in love with me?”</p><p>John had tried to get up and go to the man. He wanted to soothe him, to reassure him that he did love him—he loved him more than anything in this world—he just didn’t want to fly. He could explain, but when he tried to move, a massive squid wrapped its tentacles around his chest and began to squeeze. John screamed for help, but the man kept on crying before he, too, disappeared.</p><p>Once John’s rapid breathing returned to normal, he lay back down and pulled the covers around himself tightly. He’d tried not to think about the man he’d seen or how he related to the dog hallucinations, but try as he might, John couldn’t get him off his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d known him before the injury.</p><p>Initially, he’d talked himself out of going back to the church. He reasoned that even if he had known him, that didn’t mean they had been friends. For all John knew, this man could’ve had something to do with his injury—he could be dangerous.</p><p><i>Or, he could be the answer,</i> a nagging voice in John’s head reminded him. He could be the key to John’s questionable past or just another stranger. Either way, John decided that he needed to find out.  </p><p>If Chaz’s theory about John was correct, then it was highly probable that he had associated with some rather unsavoury characters before he lost his memory. So, it was important that John not reveal himself to the handsome stranger, under any circumstances. But if he were careful, John could find out more about him at least. </p><p>It had been early morning the previous Sunday when John had heard the man. Assuming the group met every week at the same time, he might be there again today. </p><p>John jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, pulling a woollen hat over his head. He grabbed a scarf as well and wrapped it around his neck so that it covered the lower half of his face. It was cold enough that no would look twice at his haphazard attempt to conceal himself. </p><p>He tiptoed past Betty, who was once again asleep on her favourite chair with the cats in her lap, then grabbed one of her old newspapers and crept out the door. When he walked out onto the street, he checked his watch and set out at a brisk pace. He arrived at the community centre a few minutes later and found a bench nearby. He sat down to wait; raising the newspaper over his face as an extra precaution.  </p><p>Just as he’d hoped, the group let out not long after and there, among the people exiting the hall, was the dark-haired man from John’s dream. Once again, a tingle ran down John’s spine at the sight of him. </p><p>The man was smiling this time, albeit a dim smile that didn’t quite meet his piercing hazel eyes. </p><p>“Will we see you again next week, James?” A women called, as the man turned to walk away. </p><p>John’s entire body stiffened and an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu washed over him. <i>James.</i> He wasn’t sure how, but John <i>knew</i> that name. It was achingly familiar in a way that he couldn’t describe. </p><p><i>No, Jamie,</i> his mind supplied instinctively, and without warning, a blurred vision flashed before John’s eyes. </p><p>They were sitting closely together on the floor, with a yellow blanket thrown over their legs. James’ head was resting on his shoulder and he felt the heat of the touch radiating through him. “I…” James broke off in an unusual display of insecurity. “I guess I’m asking if you’re sure about this… about us.” </p><p><i>He took Jamie’s hand into his own and pressed his lips against his tanned knuckles. “Jamie, I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”</i> </p><p>The scene dissolved as quickly as it came, and for a moment, John felt as though he couldn’t breathe. There was a lump lodged in his throat and he was trembling all over. This didn’t feel like a dream or a hallucination. It felt like a flashback… a true <i>memory.</i> </p><p>He looked up from his reprieve just in time to see the man—<i>Jamie</i>—disappearing around the corner. Without thinking, without considering how dangerous it might be, John stood up from the bench and followed him. </p><p>John had to run to catch up, but once he did, he hung back and tailed him from a distance. His weakened knees felt like jelly and the hair on his arms stood on end, but he forced himself to keep moving; to keep following the man.</p><p>Eventually, they turned onto Charing Cross Road and passed several used bookstores. John hadn’t yet ventured here. Ella had warned him away from it, explaining that it was a dangerous area that he’d be better off avoiding. Unconsciously, John tightened his coat around his body like a shield and darted his eyes back and forth, watching out for anything suspicious. </p><p>After a while though, his shoulders loosened considerably. It didn’t look much different than the other streets that John frequented; though perhaps a bit busier.  </p><p>James stopped and John turned abruptly, pretending to be admiring a display of leather bound books in a shop window as he watched the man enter a building from the corner of his eye. The weathered, hanging sign that jutted from the door read: The Leaky Cauldron, Established 1512.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Harry</b>
  </p>
</div>A disquieting, ominous feeling settled over Harry as he dropped the thin yellow folder onto his desk. A feeling of guilt washed over him as he looked upon the cover and realised that a small part of him had quietly hoped to never see it again.<p>The case file, titled <i>‘The Disappearance of Auror Edward Remus Lupin’</i> had been filed away months ago—along with all the other unsolved cases of the past century— and marked with a generic red stamp that read: missing, presumed deceased. The case wasn’t closed, but the Auror department had stopped actively pursuing the investigation some time ago.</p><p>Now, there was no choice but to revisit it.</p><p>It happened on a Friday. Harry had been in his office, rushing to complete a stack of paperwork that his brother-in-law, Percy, the Senior Under Secretary to the Minister, had Owled him that morning.</p><p>Normally, he would take his time filling out the documents. However, Harry had been eager to get home early that day. He wanted to speak with James before his son left for the ‘sleepover’ he’d planned with Teddy—the one he thought nobody knew about.</p><p>He was halfway through a report regarding increased troll activity in the Mourne Mountains when an opalescent English lop rabbit hopped onto his desk. It opened its mouth and Marion’s anguished voice radiated throughout the room: <i>It’s Blue Bear—Blue Bear is d-down. Send backup. Please… I don’t… He’s g-gone.</i></p><p>It felt as though a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over Harry’s head, chilling him to the bone in an instant. Blue Bear was Teddy’s code name, and he was clearly in trouble.</p><p>Harry had jumped to attention, shouting instructions as he raced towards the nearest apparition point and turned on his heel with a pop. </p><p>The vision he was met with when he arrived at the Ménage of Macmillan would haunt him for the rest of his life. Marion was slouched over the stoop, eyes unfocused and clouded over. Her face was bloodless, and she was clearly in a state of shock. Despite her training and over ten years of experience on the force, she held her wand loosely at her side, not having bothered to cast a basic <i>protego</i> to shield herself.</p><p>When she saw Harry, her mouth began to move, but no sound came out. With a weak, shaking hand she pointed toward the open door. And that’s when he saw it—a pool of dark red blood puddled around the floor of the entrance, dripping down the wooden stairs.</p><p>Teddy was nowhere to be found.</p><p>Harry and a team of his most experienced Aurors investigated the scene around the clock for days. No stone was left unturned, but in the end, the only thing they found on site was the blood. </p><p>Marion, who’d been rushed to St Mungo’s soon after Harry arrived, was their only source of information. She’d been hit with a strong confundus charm, and once it had been lifted, they were able to extract her distorted memories of Teddy’s final moments. She’d been making her way to the front garden when she heard a shout; <i>Exacuere Vade.</i> Immediately, she’d started to run toward the unfamiliar voice, but the moment she turned the corner of the house, everything went black. She came to a second later, but never actually saw Teddy or his assailant disapparate. </p><p>The curse that had apparently been used on Teddy was not previously known to the Ministry. Although they were able to determine that it worked in a similar fashion to <i>Sectumsempra,</i> no one managed to recreate it. Wand movement could be an extremely complicated aspect of spell casting if you didn’t know the pattern.</p><p>For months after the disappearance, a significant portion of the Auror Department’s resources were utilised to search for Teddy. Every place Teddy had ever been associated with was thoroughly searched, and every person he’d ever known was interrogated. Still, no new evidence had emerged. </p><p>Harry continued on anyway, intent on following every possible lead, no matter how insignificant it turned out to be. And while he and his team were more than willing to continue the search for as long as it took to solve the case, the public—encouraged by the <i>Daily Prophet</i>—began to question the Auror department’s methods. The headlines became increasingly hyperbolic over time…</p><p>
  <i>“Six months of searching for Teddy Lupin has produced no substantial leads.”</i>
</p><p><i>“Delayed responses to emergency Floo calls being reported - citizens questioning the Auror department and Head Auror Potter’s priorities.”</i>  </p><p><i>“The cost of an Auror? Sources inside the DMLE estimate that the cost of the Lupin investigation has reached over 500,000 Galleons.”</i> </p><p>As a result, they’d had no choice but to scale back the manpower dedicated to the investigation and return their focus to other matters. And so, ten months after the incident, Edward ‘Teddy’ Lupin was officially presumed dead. </p><p>When the news was leaked to the media, Harry rushed to James’ place, only to find him passed out amongst a pile of empty Ogden’s Old Firewhisky bottles on the dust caked floor. It was then that he’d decided to put away the file for good.</p><p>It had been difficult at first. He had often lain awake at night, going over every miniscule detail in his head for hours. He questioned his decision every moment of everyday. Harry didn’t need the Ministry to continue exploring the case. He had enough gold to hire a private search party or simply quit his job and keep at it himself. But he understood that the only way for Jamie to heal was to find a way to put Teddy’s death behind him. To move on. And Harry couldn’t ask his son to do that if he couldn’t do it himself.</p><p>It had now been sixteen months since his son had lost the love of his life, and finally, Harry was starting to see an improvement in James. It wasn’t profound. He was still very much a ghost of his former carefree self. But it was there. It was small smiles and light chuckles. It was making an effort to spend more time with the family. It was improvements to his pub that required slightly more effort than mending a wobbly table. It was progress, and that meant something.</p><p>A soft tapping at his office door drew Harry sharply out of his thoughts. His eyes flicked up and away from the still unopened folder that he’d been staring at for the past half hour.</p><p>“Enter,” he said wearily. The door opened only a fraction before a yellow note in the shape of a canary flew in. He recognised it immediately as Hermione’s work. It came to a rest in the palm of his outstretched hand and unfolded itself. There were only three words printed in the Minister’s neat handwriting: <i>Lunch in five?</i></p><p>Harry breathed a sigh of relief and scribbled a quick reply before sending it away again with a flick of his wand. Lunch with Hermione sounded a lot less depressing than moping over a case file that he already knew by heart. </p><p>“Harry,” she greeted with a kind smile as he pushed open her door. “Come in, have a seat. I have sandwiches being delivered from The Leaky Cauldron.”</p><p>Resisting the urge to groan out loud, Harry closed the door and sat down across from her. James had been running lunch specials every day for the last three weeks to test out his new menu ideas, and everyone in the family was taking part. As much as Harry loved pub food—and his eldest—he didn’t think he could take much more of it without having his trousers let out. </p><p>“Please tell me there is at least <i>something green</i> on this one?” he pleaded. “Yesterday’s fish finger sandwich was the best I’ve ever tasted—don’t get me wrong—but the closest thing it had to a vegetable was the pickle relish in the tartare sauce.”</p><p>Hermione laughed. “Ron and Hugo had two each, and have declared it the best so far,” she said, shaking her head fondly. “Now they’re at odds with Rose and George, who think his New York style Reuben sandwich is better. Today, we’re having BLT’s with avocado. I requested that he substitute the chips with carrot sticks. Which apparently is a cardinal sin, but he agreed anyway.” </p><p>Harry’s stomach rumbled at the word <i>carrot.</i> “Thank Merlin,” he said with relief. “So, why are we eating in your office? Does Perce have the day off?” Percy’s office was located right across the hall from Hermione’s, which is why she usually opted to eat lunch at home with Ron, although she would never say it.</p><p>Hermione seemed to be torn between a smile and a grimace. “Percy hasn’t taken a day off in fifteen years. He’s highly… er— motivated.” </p><p>“That’s one way of putting it.” Harry grinned at the look she gave him. He and George had a long-standing bet to see who could get her to finally crack and admit that she didn’t like Percy very much. So far, Hermione hadn’t caved. “You know, you’ll feel better once it’s off your chest, ‘Mione,” he teased. </p><p>“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Harry Potter,” she lied, her voice involuntarily switching into politician mode. </p><p>“Alright,” he conceded, throwing up his hands in mock defeat with a knowing smirk. “Who’s bringing our food? Those carrot sticks are calling my name.” </p><p>For some reason, Hermione shifted uncomfortably at the question. “Scorpius Malfoy. I’ve invited him to join us.” </p><p>Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “Scorpius?” He was happy to see his future son-in-law, of course. But he hadn’t realised that he and Hermione were close. In fact, he could only remember them exchanging pleasantries and occasional small talk at family gatherings. </p><p>“Are you hoping to recruit him to your department? Because that’s going to take some convincing. He loves his work in the Archives—won’t shut up about it actually. I still can’t believe he’s Draco Malfoy’s son.” </p><p>“Oh, no. Scorpius is the best researcher the Ministry has recruited in a decade.” The smile on her face dimmed considerably. “Which is why I invited him today. I have something to talk to you about and I think he can help us.” </p><p>Caught off guard by her sudden change in tone, Harry simply nodded, waiting for her to continue. </p><p>It was rare to see Hermione hesitate. It was even more unusual to see her pause and pull her lip between her teeth in thought, before opening her mouth, then closing it again, as though she wasn’t entirely sure how she should proceed. But after a moment, she did. “Harry. The Ministry has drafted the documents required to claim possession of… of Teddy’s estate.”</p><p>Harry’s mouth ran dry, and his hands clenched involuntarily around the arms of his chair. “Excuse me?” he said, voice poisonous. “I still have a month to make my claim! How could you let this happen?” </p><p>Hermione sat up straight, clearly taken aback by his outburst. “You know very well this wasn’t my doing!”</p><p>“You’re the Minister of Magic!” Harry was getting angry. “Everything that happens here is <i>your doing</i>. How are you goin—”</p><p>Hermione threw up a hand, silencing him in an instant. Her expression was stern, reminding him of a terrifying mix of Molly and Professor McGonagall. “I’m here to help you, Harry. If you’ll stop shouting at me, I’ll explain.” </p><p>Harry swallowed a retort but bowed his head apologetically and motioned for her to proceed. </p><p>“As I’ve said, the documentation to seize Teddy’s estate has been filed with all of the proper offices. However, it has not been approved yet.” Harry looked up to see her lips drawn into a tight smile. “You still have a month to get this sorted before the Ministry can act. That being said, it is unusual for this type of thing to be filed so early.”</p><p>The idea of the Ministry taking Andy’s home, Remus’ old cottage… even Grimmauld Place, caused Harry’s stomach to tie into knots. “What does this mean?” he asked desperately.</p><p>Hermione sighed. “I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted. “Typically, it takes years for the Ministry to bother with something like this. The paperwork takes a lot of time to compile, and generally the properties that we take ownership of are more of a burden than an asset.” </p><p>“Meaning?” </p><p>“Meaning, it’s not uncommon for the Ministry to ignore these types of cases until they become a safety or security issue. For example, paperwork wasn’t filed for the Ménage of Macmillan for nearly a hundred years after it was abandoned.”</p><p>“So why go after Teddy’s estate so quickly?” It was a rhetorical question. Harry knew why. But that didn’t stop him from being disgusted by it.</p><p>“Funding,” Hermione said bluntly, confirming his suspicions. “The Ministry is primarily funded through regulated taxation. However, it’s also funded by private donations. Historically, the majority of those private donations were provided by wealthy, pure-blood families looking to further their own personal or political agendas. Since the war, we’ve seen a steady, but significant reduction in large, private donations. As a result, many projects have seen delays or outright rejections for the money they needed to continue their work.” </p><p>“So, someone in the Ministry <i>is</i> after Teddy’s money. We need to find out who! This could lead me to his killer.”</p><p>“Not just someone, Harry.” Hermione opened the top drawer of her desk and extracted a large stack of parchment. “I’ve received petitions for additional funding from every department in the last month. Even Magical Maintenance is asking for double their annual budget, citing the need for additional supplies. Apparently, word has gotten out about your... situation.”</p><p>“How?” Harry demanded. “Audrey would never—”</p><p>“No, she wouldn’t. But you wouldn’t exactly need high security clearance to discover that the estate hasn’t been claimed. I asked a few of my more trustworthy employees, and they told me that a rumour has been circulating. They’re saying that you haven’t been able to contain the Dark magic within Grimmauld Place, and by not claiming the estate, you’re hoping to get rid of the burden. Even if it means losing the gold as well.”</p><p>Harry’s mouth dropped open, and for a moment he was at a loss for words. The remaining Dark Objects stored at Grimmauld Place had been contained years ago. Even Walburga Black’s screeching portrait had been removed and destroyed. Today, it was just an empty house and Harry’s only connection to his lost godfather. He didn’t want to see it fall into disrepair like so many other ancient Wizarding homes.</p><p>“You know that’s not what I want, Mione’. The Ministry would leave it to ruin.”</p><p>“I know,” Hermione said sadly. “I’m on your side. I’ll do whatever I can to stall the process.”</p><p>Harry nodded gratefully. “I was going to give it to Albus and Scorpius as a wedding present. I thought that would be most fitting.” Because it would keep Draco from talking them into moving into the Manor when they eventually grew tired of flat living, he didn’t say. “The house responds well to Black descendants.” </p><p>As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and Scorpius’ uniquely posh voice could be heard on the other side. “Minister?”</p><p>Hermione called him in, and Scorpius clambered through the door holding a large paper bag in one hand and an old book in the other. “I’m sorry I’m late, Minister, Mr Potter. The Leaky Cauldron was quite busy. Word has gotten out that James is offering a free apple turnover with every lunch order today.”</p><p>Harry cursed inwardly and looked down solemnly at his protruding gut. He loved Jamie’s apple turnover.</p><p>“That’s quite alright, Scorpius,” Hermione said kindly. “I trust you were able to find the information I requested?”</p><p>Scorpius’ eyes lit up in a way that Harry had become familiar with over the years. It was the look he had when he’d managed to accomplish something particularly difficult—like getting Al to introduce colour into his wardrobe. </p><p>“I located the book in an Egyptian archive,” Scorpius said proudly. “It arrived by owl just yesterday. It’s a fascinating read. Although, admittedly, a bit dark. The research is solid. However, the unethical approach that Lagarde took with his study calls the overall findings into question.”</p><p>Harry frowned. Nothing that Scorpius had just said made any sense to him. But when he looked over to Hermione, she had her lip between her teeth again, looking thoughtful, and a bit troubled.</p><p>Scorpius took a seat beside Harry and handed out the food as he continued to rattle on. “I found a few other studies on the subject that were mostly theoretical. Gregor’s text was the most comprehensive. Although, his findings are all visually observable. Things that would be common knowledge to anyone who has known a Metamorphmagus. Lagarde’s clinical trials—”</p><p>Harry, who had unconsciously tuned Scorpius out, perked up at the word Metamorphmagus. “What’s this about?” He interrupted. “Who’s Lagarde?”</p><p>Scorpius looked to Hermione nervously and then back to Harry, as though he were confused by the question.</p><p>“I asked Scorpius to find this book because I think it might be helpful to us.” She held it up. A shiver ran down Harry’s spine when he read the fading cover: <i>Metamorphmagi: The Key to Immortality.</i></p><p>A whirlwind of possibilities began to formulate in Harry’s mind, each more horrific than the last. “Can one of you please explain this?” he asked, as evenly as possible.</p><p>Hermione reached over and took Harry’s clenched hand into her own. Squeezing it firmly, she turned her gaze towards Scorpius. “Go ahead.”</p><p>Scorpius nodded apprehensively.  “Lagarde was a Transfiguration professor at Beauxbatons Academy in the early 1900s. He was obsessed with immortality and spent a significant amount of time attempting to replicate Nicolas Flamel's stone. In his manifesto, he claimed to have succeeded. But Lagarde wasn’t satisfied with the stone alone, because although he allegedly couldn’t die, his body still aged.</p><p>“It was his belief that if Metamorphmagi could manipulate their cellular structure, they could also regenerate it. In other words, an immortal Metamorphmagus could live forever, while remaining young and strong.</p><p>“The problem was, Lagarde wasn’t a Metamorphmagus himself. So, he petitioned the Wizengamot for the approval he needed to begin testing. He believed that the Metamorphmagus gene could be replicated. Well, as you can imagine, this sort of finding was incredibly appealing at the time; immortality; eternal youth. It didn’t take much convincing for the Wizengamot to round up a few Metamorphmagi on bogus criminal charges and hand them over to Lagarde.”</p><p>Harry’s stomach turned. He could see where this was going, and suddenly the idea of food made him nauseous.</p><p>“As you might expect, Lagarde’s methods were unconventional, even for the times. He saw Metamorphmagi as invincible. So, he set out to prove his theory. He tested to see how long they could go without food or water by depriving them of sustenance for days on end. He tested their physical endurance by forcing them to run until their bodies collapsed from fatigue. And, perhaps worst of all, he tested their ability to recover from injury by hurting them and forcing them to shapeshift.”</p><p>“What did he find?” Harry choked out over the lump in his throat. “And how does this relate to Teddy’s case?”</p><p>“Teddy? I don—”</p><p>“We’re getting there,” Hermione proclaimed, silencing Scorpius, who looked shocked and confused at the mention of Teddy. Whatever she was thinking, she hadn’t let him into the loop either. </p><p>“Please continue.”</p><p>Scorpius was clearly stunned, but proceeded, nonetheless. “Right… um. Well, he found that Metamorphmagi differ from humans in three distinct ways. They couldn’t go longer without food or water, in fact, they seemed to require more. We now know that the more Metamorphmagi shift, the more energy they expend. Even when they don’t shift often, their metabolic rate is higher. Next, he discovered that if they morphed their muscular tissue, it did make them stronger, but they would still be weaker than someone who had obtained their strength naturally. And finally, he discovered that they were able to recover from injury faster, but only if given the chance to recuperate.</p><p>“In other words, a Metamorphmagus is no less likely to die from a killing curse. But if they cut their finger and morphed the skin repetitively, the cut would heal more quickly.”</p><p>“H-how?” Harry shuddered. “How did he know they could still die from <i>Avada Kedavra</i>?”</p><p>This time, it was Hermione who responded. “When the Wizengamot became aware of Lagarde’s abuses of human rights, they discontinued the study and arrested him on murder charges. They executed him without trial and did their best to hide their own involvement in the scandal. It wasn’t difficult to cover up. The Metamorphmagi under his care died before they could submit any testimony. Lagarde was French, and not well known amongst the British population. The Wizengamot destroyed his research and swept the whole experiment under the carpet. Forty years later, Lagarde’s son compiled the documents that he’d managed to retain into the book that Scorpius found for us. He only made ten copies before he too was executed for kidnapping and torture.”</p><p>Harry sat in silence, trying to process everything he’d just heard. Scorpius’ eyes had gone wide, as if he’d just realised something terribly profound. Hermione’s face was expressionless, save for a lone tear running down her cheek.</p><p>Harry felt lost, like they’d both been able to string together a conclusion and he didn’t have any thread.</p><p>“You still haven’t said what any of this has to do with Teddy,” Harry cried, banging a fist on the table. “If someone wanted to study him or… or replicate his genes, then why did they kill him? None of this makes any sense!” </p><p>“That’s just it. I don’t think they did kill him.” Hermione’s voice was small, but confident. </p><p>“You’re wrong!” Harry stood, knocking his chair to the floor in his careless anger. “There was too much blood. That’s what they told me. That’s what everyone who examined the scene told me! No one could survive after losing that much blood!”</p><p>“Teddy could. This book proves it.”</p><p>“It proves nothing!” Harry roared, turning on Hermione. Scorpius flinched as spittle flecked the desk between them. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose as Harry continued: “The forensic experts knew he was a Metamorphmagus. If all of this were true, it would have come up by now.”</p><p>“Teddy was a Metamorphmagus and part werewolf. As far as we know, there has never been anyone like him before. Given this information, it’s entirely possible that his ability to regenerate after a serious injury is greater than anyone could have imagined. The forensic department wouldn’t have known about this because the research in this book has been suppressed for decades.”</p><p>“Then how did you know about it? And why the hell am I just hearing this now? If we had known about this sooner, we could have used it to continue the investigation!”</p><p>Scorpius sat wide-eyed and pale, hands clasped in his lap, tight enough for his knuckles to whiten. Hermione looked away, not wanting to meet Harry's eyes.  </p><p>“I’m so sorry. I… I saw the reports. I read over the casework dozens of times. I thought… I thought they were right to assume Teddy was dead. But when you started looking for an heir, I started doing some research of my own. That’s when I discovered Lagarde’s study. I asked Scorpius to help—” she paused for a moment and turned to Scorpius. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what it was for. I couldn’t risk this information getting out before I was sure. </p><p>“Harry, we both know there isn’t an heir. You couldn’t bring yourself to believe that because you knew it would hurt too much to hope. You were trying to put it all behind you, for your sake and your son’s. You didn’t want to believe that Teddy was still alive because that meant admitting that you’d failed him. But you haven’t failed him. Not yet. He’s out there.”</p><p>Harry slumped back down into his chair and put his head in his hands. “I… I don’t even know where to start ‘Mione. There’s nothing. No leads, no sightings, no clues whatsoever. This theory gives us nothing new to work with.”</p><p>Scorpius, who had been sitting in quiet terror, tentatively spoke up: “I might have an idea.” He fidgeted for a moment before continuing. “Minister,” Scorpius asked hesitantly. “Have you ever attempted to send a corporeal Patronus to someone who’s passed away?” </p><p>Both Harry and Hermione gawked at Scorpius, who had bitten his lower lip so it wouldn’t tremble. </p><p>“I can’t say that I have, Scorpius,” Hermione replied. She was clearly just as confused by the question as Harry was. </p><p>“I hadn’t either,” Scorpius admitted. “Until a few weeks ago, that is.” </p><p>“What’s this got to do with Teddy?” Harry asked (for what seemed like the millionth time), doing his best to keep the frustration out of his voice. He couldn’t see how any of this was relevant to the situation at hand. </p><p>Scorpius ran his fingers through his hair nervously. “I’m getting there,” he muttered. “I visited James a few weeks ago, and he let slip that he’s been sending his Patronus to Teddy, with messages, when he was feeling down. I presume it’s some sort of coping mechanism for him.”</p><p>Harry felt his insides coil. Jamie was sending his Patronus to Teddy? That didn’t make a lot of sense, but then again, people’s unique manifestations of grief never did make sense.</p><p>“I… I warned him against it,” Scorpius continued. “I was concerned that the Patronus might show up somewhere with Muggles, maybe somewhere that he and Teddy had been before, and I didn’t want James to get into trouble with the Ministry.” </p><p>“That’s reasonable,” Hermione agreed. “I don’t know if there is any precedent for this. If there is, I haven’t read about it.” </p><p>Scorpius frowned. “Neither have I,” he said. “And to be honest, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I searched the Archives and skimmed through about a hundred different books about the Patronus Charm, and none of them mentioned it. It’s such an old spell, you would think there would be something, but there wasn’t.” </p><p>“That’s because Dumbledore invented it.” Both Hermione and Scorpius turned to Harry with raised eyebrows, so he rushed to clarify. “He didn’t invent the Patronus Charm, obviously. I mean, he was the one who figured out how to use it as a messenger. He taught Kingsley how to do it, and after the War, Kingsley taught me. I was the one who added it to the Auror training. For the Aurors who can produce it, anyway. Not all of them can.” </p><p>“That explains why there isn’t any precedent,” Scorpius said thoughtfully. “I couldn’t find any academic literature on the matter… so I…  I tried it myself to see what would happen.” </p><p>Scorpius looked frightened by the admission. Like he was afraid he was going to be sacked right there by the Minister herself. But Hermione smiled kindly and gestured for him to continue. </p><p>“What happened?” She asked. </p><p>“Nothing. I produced my Patronus, and instructed it to send my mother a message. It… it moved forward and nuzzled my thigh, then it disintegrated.” Scorpius’ voice cracked, but he swallowed hard and proceeded. “But James said that when he casts his, it takes off. My Patronus knew my mum was gone, so it didn’t go anywhere. But James’ leaves. At first, I thought maybe it was because I’ve accepted my mum’s death and James hasn’t accepted Teddy’s… but what if I was wrong? What if the Patronus does go to Teddy?” </p><p>Harry’s ears began to ring, as if someone had turned on a siren in his brain. His entire body suddenly felt weak and his skin prickled with something resembling panic and hope at the same time. “What if we could follow it?” he breathed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>The most difficult part of renovating a pub that’s operational is navigating the day to day business needs while still making time for upgrades. In the last couple of months, James had made several major improvements to the crumbling infrastructure; such as mending the drafty windows, nailing down the loose floorboards, and replacing the deep fryer with one built in the current century. However, the bulk of what he needed to accomplish couldn’t be completed while simultaneously serving customers. Especially since the launch of his latest lunch and dinner specials had significantly increased his customer base.<p>Therefore, James made the decision to close the pub for a fortnight (leaving open access to Diagon Alley, of course) to finish remodelling. </p><p>He would have to work 'round the clock to get it all done in time, but if everything worked out, he would be hosting a grand re-opening at the end of the month: with an improved menu, additional seating, and a small stage for entertainment. </p><p>He’d nearly scrapped his plans to build the stage, knowing that whenever he looked at it, he would be reminded of Teddy playing soft melodies on his guitar. But Albus wouldn’t hear of it. </p><p>
  <i>‘This is your dream, Jamie. Teddy wouldn’t have wanted you to squander it. Besides, Louis will never forgive you if he doesn’t get the chance to serenade his hoard of fangirls during open mic night.’</i>
</p><p>The good news was, many members of the family had offered to assist. Hugo and Uncle Ron had volunteered their weekends in exchange for free sandwiches and Dominique agreed to paint the guest rooms if James would display some of her artwork in them (something he’d planned on doing anyway). And of course, his new employee, Martin, would be coming in daily to assist while he trained behind the bar. </p><p>Albus lent the most time. Apparently, Scorpius had been recruited by the Ministry for a top secret project that would require him to work several extra hours a day. Since Al had nothing better to do than totter around their flat aimlessly when Scorpius wasn’t there, he welcomed the distraction. </p><p>“It’s just strange, you know?” Albus said as he sat crossed legged on the floor, meticulously stripping old varnish off a bar stool. “He can’t tell me anything about it, but I can tell it’s intense by the way he’s acting.” </p><p>“I wouldn’t worry, little brother,” James reassured. “Dad’s involved in it too, right? They wouldn’t get themselves into anything if they didn’t think it was important.” </p><p>Albus sighed, rubbing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “I just can’t seem to shake the feeling that they’re working on something dangerous. When Scorp came home last night, he was all pale and shaky, but he pretended like nothing was wrong.” </p><p>With a grin, James quirked an eyebrow at his brother. “This is Scorpius we’re talking about. He’s always pale.” </p><p>Albus raised his hand in a crude gesture. “I prefer the term porcelain god.”</p><p>Before James had the chance to rip his brother a new one for that dreadfully cheesy line, something flashed in the corner of his eye. Looking up, he saw the shadow of a man just outside the pub’s front window. Without a word, he jumped to his feet and raced towards the front door, wrenching it open. He twisted his head back and forth frantically, but the man he was looking for seemed to have disappeared amongst the crowd of early holiday shoppers. </p><p>“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath, shoulders slouching. </p><p>“You alright, mate?” Albus asked from behind him, sounding concerned. “Did you see something?”</p><p>James closed the door and bound the heavy lock before taking out his wand and casting several protection wards on it. When he was finished, he turned to Albus who was regarding him with alarm. </p><p>“I’m sure it’s nothing,” James insisted, responding to his brother’s unasked question. “I… I’ve been seeing this bloke hanging around for the last week or so. At first, I thought he looked like… it’s nothing.”</p><p>Unsurprisingly, Albus didn’t look convinced. “Nothing?” he asked facetiously, crossing his arms over his chest. “<i>Nothing</i> sounds like a stalker.” </p><p>James cringed. All of the Potter children had been stalked to one degree or another throughout their lives; it wasn’t a pleasant experience. However, it wasn’t the possibility of a new stalker that had James’ heart pounding through his chest. This was the third time he’d caught a glimpse of what appeared to be the same man; a man that—from a distance at least—bore a striking resemblance to Teddy in stature. </p><p>“Are you sure you’re okay?” Albus asked doubtfully, placing a hand on James’ shoulder. “If this creep is scaring you we can talk to Dad about it, or you can come stay with me and Scorpius for a while.”</p><p>James shook his head resolutely and forced an easy smile. “Come off it, Al,” he said. “I’m sure it’s just a Muggle who’s curious about the old shop. Not all of them look past it. Some of them are more intuitive.”</p><p>He didn’t really believe that, but he didn’t want Albus to worry. And part of James was desperate to see the man up close, because at this point, he wasn’t entirely sure that it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>John leaned back against the stone wall and released a shaky breath. His hat had fallen off as he ran, exposing his bright magenta fringe. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, willing his shaking body to calm, but when he opened them the colour had become even more vibrant.<p>“Fuck,” he swore out loud, squeezing his eyes shut again. <i>Brown, brown, brown… DULL BROWN</i> his mind chanted desperately. But to his horror, his hair stubbornly remained red. </p><p>Frantically, John searched the alley that he’d ducked into for anything that would disguise his appearance. And somehow, on the ground beneath his feet, lay the woolly hat that he’d lost. He didn’t know how it ended up there—it certainly hadn’t been there a moment before—but he didn’t much care. As quickly as he could, he picked it up and pulled it back over his head. </p><p>With his hair covered, John was able to relax a bit. His trembling knees no longer felt like they were going to buckle underneath him, and the hot waves of adrenaline began to subside. </p><p><i>Bloody hell</i>, that had been far too close a call. </p><p>James had definitely seen him this time, and rather than simply glancing at John in passing—as he would likely do a stranger—he had jumped up and ran towards him. John had just enough time to see a spark of recognition in the man’s expression before he fled in panic. </p><p>John condemned himself for his reckless actions. <i>What had he been thinking?</i> </p><p>Well, he <i>knew</i> what he’d been thinking. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about James all week. Since the day John had followed him to the pub, the visions had continued to flood in. </p><p>They hadn’t been nearly as vivid as the first one, but the fragments were constant. The flash of a smile here… the feel of a touch there. James—whoever he was—had taken up residence in John’s mind, and along with the memories came a sharp increase in his delusions. </p><p>His hair and eye colour seemed to change several times a day, forcing him to wear a hat at all times and avert his eyes whenever he came into close proximity with another person. Rationally, he knew that he was the only one who could see the changes, but it still made him paranoid. After all, Betty had claimed to have noticed it once before. Although, admittedly, she had forgotten about it two days later (or it hadn’t actually happened. John honestly didn’t know.) </p><p>A vibration in John’s pocket startled him back into the present. He didn’t need to check his mobile to see who had texted him. There were only two people who sent him texts; Chaz and Ella. Chaz only reached out once a week to confirm where they were meeting up for lunch. Ella, on the other hand, had been messaging him more and more with each day that passed. </p><p>John couldn’t blame her, of course. He’d been avoiding her for over a week, feigning illness. He’d used the same excuse to skive off work and spent his days wandering around London until he inevitably ended up back at the Leaky Cauldron to sneak a peek through the windows. </p><p>When John had fully composed himself, he remembered the flyer that was still clutched tightly in his palm. He’d pulled it from the window of the pub just before he’d been spotted. </p><p>Large, bold letters across the top of the page read ‘Grand Re-Opening’ with the date listed as the following Saturday night. Drink specials flashed in an array of colours and animated pint glasses seemed to pour themselves in the corners. John had never seen an advert move like that on paper, but he was constantly discovering new things, so he supposed it wasn’t that unusual. </p><p>Carefully, he folded the flyer, tucked it into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. <i>Five unread messages, lovely.</i> John sighed heavily and pressed the dial key, then groaned in frustration when the bloody thing cut out.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b> Jasper </b>
  </p>
</div>Jasper tucked his chin into the flaps of his leather jacket in an attempt to stave off the cold as he walked home to the flat that he and Druella shared.<p>It was late. He’d been staked out outside Mrs Jones’ house for hours waiting for Lupin to return. ‘John’ had been out all day, it seemed, aimlessly wandering the streets of London. At least, that’s what Jasper assumed. Lupin’s new-found hobby hardly seemed worrisome... </p><p>Still, Jasper didn’t like it. This was the type of thing that Druella was meant to prevent, but lately she’d been failing to keep Lupin in line. </p><p>John had been avoiding her, that much was obvious, but Jasper couldn’t figure out why. Druella had her own theory, of course, but Jasper wasn’t convinced. He’d spent quite a bit of time with Lupin as well, and not once had he got such a vibe. </p><p>Lupin was the type of bloke who liked to watch football and have a pint with lunch. He certainly didn’t colour-coordinate his clothes or speak with an exaggerated lisp like the gay men Jasper had known. Before they’d nearly killed him, Lupin could have taken on three men with his bare hands. He’d been an Auror for Merlin’s sake. Guys like that didn’t fuck other guys. They fucked beautiful women like Victoire Weasley… and Druella. </p><p>Jasper huffed out a breath and watched it curl around his mouth like smoke in the chilled air. He was bloody tired of Druella’s dramatics. Maybe she’d finally come across a man who was able to see past her immaculate beauty and directly into her insufferable personality. He would be willing to bet his Gringotts vault that this was the real problem. Lately, Jasper couldn’t stand to be around her either, and he <i>loved</i> her… probably. </p><p>He’d never put much stake in love, though. As far as Jasper was concerned, it was a useless emotion. One that typically caused more harm than good. </p><p>Jasper arrived home and walked to the sitting room, intent on drowning his frustrations in a glass of aged scotch—or two. But his irritation increased tenfold when he found Druella, lounging on the sofa with a half-empty bottle of Merlot hanging loosely from her hand. </p><p>“You couldn’t think of a better way to spend your evening,” Jasper spat venomously, moving to stand over her. “You’re just as useless as Brody.”</p><p>Dru, who was dressed in nothing but a sheer tank top and knickers, laughed bitterly. “I told you already, you fool,” she slurred. “John isn’t interested. I did the best I could.”</p><p>Jasper’s fists curled at his side, and he resisted the urge to pull her up by her silky hair. “You’ve allowed Lupin to escape your grasp, <i>now</i>, when the stakes couldn’t be higher. Do you even know what he’s been up to for the week? When was the last time you were able to slip him a magical suppressant potion?”</p><p>“Oh, please.” Druella laughed again, but this time it sounded hysterical. “Who cares? He’s probably found a boyfriend to occupy his time. It would explain why he isn’t returning my calls.” </p><p>Rage washed over Jasper's body like a riptide, and before he could stop himself, he snatched the bottle from her hand and smashed it against the wall. Glass and dark red wine sprayed across the room, covering them both in shards. </p><p>“Have you lost the plot?” he shouted furiously. “We’re days away from seeing this through, and you’re acting like the job is already done! Do you have any idea what’s at stake?”</p><p>Druella’s expression went cold. Her eyes darkened and her brow furrowed. She didn’t bother brushing the glass off her face as she stood up, glaring daggers into him. “I <i>know</i> what’s at stake, Jasper. It’s the only reason I’m still here.”</p><p>She took a step closer, her bare feet leaving bloody footprints in the carpet. “It’s the only reason I’ve been putting up with your shite for the last six months. In fact, the only thing that’s been keeping me sane is the time I’ve spent with John. He’s good, you know. Not like you.” </p><p>There was a fine line between passion and furor, and Druella had just leaped over it. The blood in Jasper’s veins ran hot. His pulse quickened as pure fury took over his senses. For the first time, he truly wanted to hurt her. He wanted to wrap his fingers around her slender neck and break it. He wanted to watch her bleed out along with that waste of a man she clearly preferred. </p><p>As quickly as it had come, the darkness within him dissipated. Jasper reached out and pulled Dru roughly into his arms. Lowering his head, he gently kissed a small gash in the apple of her cheek, before licking the blood away with his tongue. “I’m not good,” he whispered. “You would never be satisfied with good, my love.” </p><p>Druella moaned and ran her hand through his hair, breaking the tight band that held his dreadlocks together, before pulling him into a searing kiss. </p><p>“No,” she breathed. </p><p>Her voice, thick as honey, sparked a fire within Jasper. Overcome with desire, he lifted her up and carried her to their bedroom.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>It was rather unfortunate for John that there wasn’t a manual—with specific instructions—on what to do when your girlfriend was upset with you for ditching her several times in a row.<p>When he and Ella had last spoken on the phone, she’d pretended like everything was fine. However, the tension in her voice seemed to strongly imply otherwise.</p><p>A romantic gesture of some kind seemed like the best solution, but John still wasn’t quite ready to take their relationship to the next level physically. Especially when images of James were popping into his head on a constant loop. But he also wasn’t ready to give up on their relationship just yet. Ella had been incredibly kind to him; she didn’t deserve to be ghosted or tossed aside. What she did deserve, was an honest effort on John’s part.</p><p>So, the decision was made to bring her home to meet Betty. The way John saw it, he could kill two birds with one stone; bringing a woman home to meet the ‘family’ was a big step and he could also get Betty’s input on their relationship. John trusted her opinion above anyone else’s. If she thought they had a real shot at happiness, then maybe the doubt in John’s heart would subside.</p><p>When he proposed the idea to Ella, she’d seemed hesitant at first, most likely from nerves. But eventually she agreed, and the plans were made. Betty was beyond excited to have a ‘proper’ guest over for dinner (an excuse to cook up a full roast, she’d said) and John was just happy to have a distraction from his incessant thoughts about James, the handsome pub owner.</p><p>Betty put John to work early that morning, sorting out the house. The cats’ litter trays needed cleaning and the silver needed polishing. Vegetables needed chopping and the aged bottle of cabernet that Betty swore she ‘had around here somewhere’ needed finding. All in all, it was one of the best days John had had in awhile.</p><p>Ella arrived promptly at seven o’clock. Her wide smile showed no indication that things were strained between the two of them, and when Betty pulled her into a hug, Ella returned it enthusiastically. For a short time, it looked as though it would be a perfect evening filled with great food and even better company.  But then the atmosphere took a turn for the worst.</p><p>They were halfway through dinner when Mopsey, the greediest of their three cats, leaped into Ella’s lap in an attempt to steal a bite of beef. Ella, who clearly wasn’t accustomed to the antics of felines, screeched in fear before wrenching the cat up and practically throwing him across the room. As cats do, he landed safely on his feet and scurried away. That might have been the end of it, if Ella had apologised for her harsh reaction. Unfortunately, her response was far from apologetic.</p><p>“Bleeding menaces,” she declared, taking another long sip of wine. She was on her third glass, and although John had never seen her drink more than one before, he decided that drunkenness didn’t suit her very well. “I’m not much of a cat person,” she continued, clearly not having noticed the deep frown on Betty’s face. “Animals have never taken well to me, but I do look exquisite in fur.”</p><p>John, in a desperate attempt at damage control, quickly changed the subject. “Ella works as a seamstress on the side,” John told Betty. “She’s very passionate about her work.”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” Ella agreed. “I would be happy to spoof up your wardrobe, Mrs Jones. You would be far more suited to neutral colours than pastels.”</p><p>Betty, who was wearing a lovely light-yellow blouse, smiled sweetly. John cringed at the falseness of it. “I’ll keep that in mind, dear.”</p><p>Ella continued to prattle on about herself, completely unaware of how rude she was being, and John sat in horror, having no idea how to rectify the situation. Betty hummed in response from time to time but otherwise remained silent for the rest of the meal. When it was time for dessert (a delicious looking apple tart that Betty had spent hours preparing), Ella refused it, claiming to be far too full even though she’d barely touched her roast.</p><p>When she excused herself to the restroom, John’s head dropped in shame. “I’m sorry,” he said feebly. “She’s not usually like this.” As the words left his mouth, John realised that they were a lie. Ella had always been like this, just less so. It seemed like the alcohol had only exaggerated her unfavourable qualities.</p><p>“I’ll continue to hold my tongue, if that’s what you want me to do,” Betty said, placing a comforting hand on his forearm. “You haven’t had an easy go of it, lad, and if she makes you happy then I won’t stand in the way of that. But I won’t lie under my God. That woman is a right bitch.”</p><p>John looked up and met Betty’s amused expression with his own and they both burst into ineloquent laughter. For a moment, neither of them seemed to be able to stop. How could John have been so blind? Had he really managed to date her for this long without noticing it? Merlin, he was an idiot.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, cackling over their apple tart, but when Ella returned with a strange look on her face, they both stopped and smiled at her innocently.</p><p>“I’ve just received an emergency call,” Ella announced. There was something odd about the tone of her voice, something fearful. “I need to go, I’ll text you later, John.” And before John could inquire further, or offer to escort her home, she turned on her expensive heels and dashed out the door.</p><p>“Do you think she overheard us?” he asked Betty, suddenly feeling guilty. He was sure now that he needed to end things with her, but that didn’t mean he felt good about hurting her feelings.</p><p>“Don’t ponder on it,” Betty said casually as she cut him another slice of pie. “If the truth hurts, that means you need it more.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Jasper</b>
  </p>
</div>Jasper and Druella’s relationship had taken a sharp downward turn in the wake of their latest argument. It had been rather obvious that she was trying to rile him up by saying she enjoyed Lupin’s company over his own, but Jasper couldn’t help but to wonder if there was some truth to it.<p>And the thought of it infuriated him. </p><p>Jealousy was unbecoming of a man like Jasper, but there was something about Dru that brought out the best, and the worst in him simultaneously. She was the gasoline to his match and the pin to his grenade… a poisoned love potion that he’d drink greedily from her cup. </p><p>He’d told himself that he didn’t care if she seduced Lupin. It was just another part of the plan. But Druella developing feelings for him was another matter entirely. The very idea of it set Jasper’s teeth on edge. </p><p>She was out tonight, no doubt getting cosy with Lupin and his surrogate grandmother; a happy little family indeed. Which is why Jasper was sitting alone in the dark, gazing out at the busy street below him with his wand in one hand and a drink in the other. </p><p>To distract himself, he began casting tripping jinxes on the Muggles below, watching with amusement as they fell forward, face first into the pavement. <i>Bloody imbeciles</i>, he thought as they hastily scrambled to their feet. </p><p>He was sick of the Muggles, sick of pretending to be one, and more than anything he was sick of London. But soon, he would be able to wash his hands of this place and start again somewhere new (with a load of gold in his pocket). Perhaps somewhere tropical, where Druella could run around all day in a skimpy bikini. <i>If he decided to take her along</i>, he reminded himself. </p><p>He might just kill her and save himself the trouble.</p><p>The sound of the door flying open startled Jasper, and he pointed his wand at the hall, ready to curse whoever came through. However, when he saw Dru looking dishevelled, he lowered his hand and fixed her with a cold stare. “You’re early,” he said dryly.</p><p>“We have a problem,” she said seriously; voice shaking. “Lupin… he… he’s remembering things.” </p><p>Alarm bells went off in Jasper’s head and he stood, swiftly making his way over to her. “What has he remembered?” he demanded. </p><p>“Diagon Alley… I think.” Druella reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Jasper. “I found this in his room.” </p><p>Jasper took it and unfolded the flyer. A sense of dread washed over him as he read the words. “Potter,” he bit out. “This is Potter’s pub!” </p><p>“Harry Potter?” Druella shouted, her face going pale. “But he isn’t onto us. That’s what you said!” </p><p>“Not Harry Potter,” Jasper fired back. “His kid… Jerold or something. Potter’s kid owns the Leaky now. Fucking hell, he must’ve known Lupin.” </p><p>“How could you have overlooked this?” Druella began frantically tearing away at her hair. “Oh my God, this is it. We’re done for.”</p><p>“Shut up and let me think,” Jasper hissed. She continued her tirade with a steady chorus of cursing and panicked words, but Jasper tuned her out. </p><p>It was Friday evening. On Monday, Lupin’s estate was to be turned over to the Ministry and their job would be done. But, according to the advert, the grand re-opening of the Leaky Cauldron was to be held the following evening. If Lupin was indeed planning to attend the event, then their entire operation would be upended less than two days before the deadline. </p><p>They couldn’t kill Lupin yet, but they could no longer allow him to wander freely. It was time to improvise.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Harry</b>
  </p>
</div>Sitting alone at his kitchen table, Harry held his Auror badge in the palm of his hand, rubbing it dolefully with his thumb. He’d been wearing it proudly on his chest for twenty-seven years, and tonight, he would be willingly giving it up.<p>All things considered, it had been an easy decision to make. No job, however esteemed, would ever be more important to him than his family. There was no price he wouldn’t pay to see them all safe, happy, and whole again. </p><p>Harry smiled when he felt a pair of soft arms encircle his chest and squeeze lightly. “You’re doing the right thing, love,” Ginny whispered, before placing a gentle kiss to his temple. </p><p>“I know,” Harry replied, allowing himself to be comforted by her warmth. “I just… I don’t know what I’m going to do if it doesn’t work. What if he isn’t...” </p><p>“You’re going to come home, we’ll cry together, and we will pick up the pieces like we always do,” Ginny responded sadly. “It will never stop hurting, but you’ll know that you did everything you could to bring Teddy home. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s a step towards closure, Harry. And that matters.” </p><p>Harry cleared his clogging throat and nodded halfheartedly. She was right, of course; she always was. But sometimes he thought she overestimated how strong he truly was. Despite himself, he’d started to hope again and that could be a dangerous emotion. </p><p>“When will the others arrive?” Ginny asked as she moved to put the kettle on the hob. </p><p>“Soon,” Harry replied. “They’ll be coming in through the Floo, in case there are any reporters sniffing around the gate.”</p><p>Ginny snorted. There were always journalists and magazine contributors loitering just outside their property line, and although the Malfoys visiting the Potters wasn’t nearly as newsworthy as it would have been a decade ago, Harry still wanted to be cautious. When the public inevitably found out what he was about to do, he didn’t want Scorpius and Draco to be implicated in the crime. </p><p>For all intents and purposes, it was only Harry himself who would be violating the Statute. If everything went according to plan, no one would ever need to know that he’d had accomplices; or that the plan hadn’t actually been his idea. </p><p>Harry liked to think of himself as an intelligent man—he’d certainly seen a lot in his life—but he had nowhere near the level of brilliance that his future son-in-law had displayed over the last few weeks. </p><p>Scorpius’ original hypothesis—the theory that corporeal Patronuses could potentially distinguish between a living person and a dead one—had been a stroke of genius. However, having a solid theory wasn’t enough for them to set out, wands blazing, to search for Teddy. It needed to be tested. </p><p>It hadn’t been easy to convince Hermione to allow them to research the matter further. She was concerned—reasonably so—that attempting to follow a Patronus without knowledge of where it might go was too risky an endeavour. But ultimately, she had given them the go ahead to begin testing (off the official record, of course). </p><p>Harry and Scorpius had set to work immediately. Harry spent days attempting to send messages to people that he <i>knew</i> were gone; his parents, Sirius, Remus and Tonks, Dumbledore. Each time, his stag would approach him in a comforting manner before disappearing, just as Scorpius’ had done when he’d attempted to send a message to his mother. </p><p>The problem with that, as Scorpius pointed out, was that he and Harry knew these people were deceased, so their magic would know as well. To truly test if a Patronus could determine whether or not someone was dead or alive, they would need to test it on people they didn’t know.</p><p>This turned out to be incredibly tricky, but once again, Scorpius came up with the solution. He compiled a list of names that he’d obtained from St Oswald's Home for Old Witches and Wizards. Some of the people on the list were recently deceased, while others were still very much alive and well, Harry just didn’t know which. </p><p>Harry worked tirelessly, sending Patronus after Patronus to the unknown names on the list. Sometimes they raced off, sending well wishes to the elderly, but other times, his stag would bow down, dropping its antlers to the floor in what looked like a sign of respect, before it disappeared.</p><p>The results were one hundred percent conclusive. Harry’s stag had been correct every time, without fail. It was revolutionary, Harry knew. The type of thing that people won awards for discovering. What they’d found could change the Wizarding World forever. </p><p>However, proving the theory didn’t get them any closer to being able to use it to track down Teddy. Patronuses didn’t actually walk or glide directly to their destination. They merely moved out of the casters’ line of vision before vanishing and reappearing near the message’s intended recipient. Therefore, whoever cast the Patronus, would have to follow it, without losing sight of it; no matter where it took them. </p><p>The Floo roared to life just as Ginny pushed a steaming cup of tea into Harry’s free hand. “I should get ready for the reopening. Good luck,” she said, placing another kiss to his cheek. As she left the room, he could hear her greeting Hermione. </p><p>A moment later, the Minister sat down across from him, where another cup of tea sat waiting, and gave Harry a solemn smile. “I’m sorry, Harry, I can’t endorse this,” she said quietly. </p><p>“I know,” Harry replied. It had been clear from the beginning that as the Minister for Magic, Hermione wouldn’t be able to officially approve the mission. She wouldn’t stop him, though. She understood how important this was to him. </p><p>With a mix of emotions, Harry gripped his Auror badge one last time and slid it across the table. Hermione’s eyes went glassy as she took it.  </p><p>“I, Harry Potter, Head Auror of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, hereby resign from the Ministry of Magic. I do so with full clarity of mind and body.”</p><p>“Your resignation has been accepted with full honours,” Hermione declared. With a quick swish of her wand, the badge rose into the air and began to spin rapidly until it disappeared with a low popping noise.</p><p>In the morning, Hermione would have to announce his resignation to the world. And whether or not things went to plan tonight, everyone would know why. Harry Potter, the golden boy, the fierce proponent of law and order, willing to break any law imaginable to save his godson. It wouldn't be a good look for the Ministry, or for him, if things went horribly wrong. He didn't care anymore though. He had to do this. </p><p>For a while, neither spoke. They simply stared at the empty space where the badge had been, the enormity of the situation hanging grimly in the air around them, until the sound of the Floo lighting up again broke the silence. </p><p>“I should go now,” Hermione said resolutely. “The less I know the better. I’m here for you though, no matter what happens.” </p><p>Harry nodded and watched her leave the kitchen just as Draco and Scorpius entered.  </p><p>“I assume the preparations have been made,” Draco said, not bothering with pleasantries as usual. </p><p>Scorpius, who was twisting his wand in his hand nervously, gave his father a stern look. </p><p>Draco’s nose twitched in annoyance, but he didn't argue. “Good evening, Potter. Is everything in order?” </p><p>Despite the enormity of the situation, Harry nearly laughed at the exchange. Scorpius' mild scolding was priceless to watch when he used it on Albus. It was even better when he used it on his petulant father. “Yes, Draco, everything is prepared. Are you sure you still want to come along?” </p><p>“Potter, it may very well kill my mother to see her family home handed over to the Ministry. I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for her,” Draco asserted. “Besides, someone has to be here to ensure that you don’t get my son arrested.”</p><p>Harry knew this wasn’t entirely true. Draco had always had a soft spot for Teddy, who’d spent quite a few Sunday brunches at the Manor with Andy. He wasn't likely to admit it though, so Harry didn't push. </p><p>“Everything is going to be fine, Dad,” Scorpius assured. “The plan is nearly foolproof.”</p><p>“Then let’s go over it again, shall we?” </p><p>They’d been over it at least a dozen times with Draco already, but Harry didn’t mind indulging him one last time. The risk was enormous, especially for him. Harry had some level of protection; a positive reputation and an arsenal of witches and wizards willing to come to his defense, no matter what. Draco had none of that. </p><p>“We’ll travel on broomsticks,” Harry reiterated. “Scorpius will steer mine under the invisibility cloak.” This had been Harry’s demand. If he and Draco were caught, then so be it. But he wouldn’t be responsible for another one of his boys losing the love of their life. “If anything should go ary, Scorpius will Disapparate to a safe location immediately.” </p><p>He looked over to Scorpius awaiting confirmation. He looked displeased, but nodded in agreement. They'd been over this. There was no debate. </p><p>Harry continued. “Draco, you will follow closely behind us. It’s your job to confund any Muggles that we might come across. You’ll only obliviate them if it’s absolutely necessary. Understand?” </p><p>“I’m well aware of my role, Potter. Go on.”</p><p>Harry swallowed a groan. Draco's talent for being completely insufferable, even when he was doing a good thing, prevailed. </p><p>“It will be up to the two of you to alert me of any danger. It’s imperative that my patronus doesn't leave my line of vision, because if it does, it will Apparate away to Teddy. If he is being held hostage, the sight of it will alert his captors.” </p><p>Everyone in the Wizarding World knew Harry's Patronus, which is why he hadn’t been able to send it to Teddy before. If they’d seen James’ terrier—sending grieving messages—it might not concern them too much. But if they saw Harry Potter’s famous stag, it would undoubtedly put Teddy in immediate danger.</p><p>“I know the current location of every Auror who works under me,” Harry explained. <i>Worked</i>, hung in the air between them, but nobody mentioned it. “If my Patronus starts to take us near a place where one of them is conducting a stake out, I’ll inform you. If we do come across one of them, we shouldn’t react with panic, that will only alarm them. I will tell them that I’m on official Ministry business. They won’t question it. The sight of my stag will be enough to prove my identity.” </p><p>“However.” Harry shot Scorpius another stern look. “Should they show any sign of suspicion, Scorpius will immediately Disapparate to a safe location.” </p><p>Scorpius looked like he was tempted to roll his eyes, but once again he nodded in understanding. </p><p>“Good,” Harry said firmly. “If we are able to locate where Teddy is being held, we will have to assume there will be anti-Apparition wards as well as armed combatants. So, from that point, Draco and I will proceed on foot, and Scorpius will stay behind at a rendezvous point, underneath the cloak. If you sense any danger whatsoever, you will—” </p><p>“Disapparate to a safe location,” Scorpius chimed in, with a hint of exasperation. “Yes, Mr Potter, I understand.” </p><p>Harry smiled grimly and placed a hand on Scorpius’ shoulder. “I know that you want to go in, Scorpius. This was your plan and you want to see it through to the end. I understand that, but I won’t put you in danger, son. If something terrible happens, I’ll need you there for Albus.”</p><p>At the mention of his fiancé, the discontented expression on Scorpius’ face morphed into a look of subdued acceptance. Harry knew well that Scorpius hadn't been thrilled about keeping this from Albus, but it had been imperative. Albus was too close to James, and James could never find out about this... unless everything went right. </p><p>Draco cleared his throat and dipped his head ever so slightly; the closest thing to a look of approval that Harry was ever likely to get from the man. He'd only agreed to Scorpius' participation on the grounds that Scorpius be made immune to consequence. Apparently, there was one thing in the world that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy could redily agree on.</p><p>“If this doesn’t go to plan?” Draco asked. </p><p>“Right.” Harry swallowed thickly as a foreboding tremor ran down his spine. “As you know, there isn’t any guarantee my Patronus will be able to find Teddy,” he reminded them gloomily. “Just because mine and Scorpius’ Patronuses were able to find one another in our simulations, doesn’t mean it will work on this scale. There are too many unknown variables. That being said, there may come a time where we have to make the decision to abandon the mission.” </p><p>This was the part that none of them really wanted to think about, but it was a reality that they had to consider. </p><p>“I’ll be watching out for patterns. If there is any indication that we are moving in circles or headed towards a location that Teddy was known to frequent—anything that contradicts our findings—we call it off.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>-</b>
  </p>
</div>Twenty minutes later, Harry, Scorpius, and Draco stood together in the Potter’s back garden watching as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon. They’d cast disillusionment charms over themselves and their brooms, and Scorpius was holding Harry’s invisibility cloak tightly in one hand.<p>“It’s time,” Draco declared, once the pink and orange hues in the sky began to turn a dark shade of purple and blue. </p><p>Wordlessly, Scorpius mounted the broomstick and threw the invisibility cloak over himself. Harry climbed behind him and looked back to see Draco—barely visible in the dying light—mount his own broom. </p><p>With everything in place, Harry closed his eyes. Forcing himself to block out the world around him, he called forward a very specific memory. </p><p>
  <i>“He’s all wrinkly,” Teddy observed as he reached out to touch James’ bald head with a timid finger.</i>
</p><p><i>“He won’t always look this, Teds,” Harry replied with a warm chuckle. “All babies look weird. Do you want to hold him?”</i> </p><p><i>Teddy’s chubby face scrunched up, and his hair turned a dull purple; a sign of insecurity. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “Maybe, when he’s bigger.”</i> </p><p>Drawing on the memory—the uninhibited joy and love he had felt for his son, his godson, and his family that day—Harry opened his eyes and lifted his wand. He took a deep breath, and with one last thought of happier times, the spell burst out of him: <i>EXPECTO PATRONUM!</i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>“It looks...” The words caught in James’ throat as he took in the new drastically improved Leaky Cauldron.<p>“It looks amazing,” Albus said, clapping James on the back. “You did a great job, Jamie. It’s brilliant.”</p><p>James felt himself start to choke up, so he wrapped an arm around Albus’ neck and tousled his hair playfully. Albus squirmed and fought to get away, but James held on to him firmly—just as he’d done when they were children—and rubbed his knuckles into the crown of his brother's tangled head.</p><p>“Say it,” James teased as he expertly dodged Al’s fruitless attempts to kick him in the shin. “<i>Say it!</i>”</p><p>“Mercy! Mercy!” Albus shouted between indignant giggles.</p><p>James released him with a laugh and in turn, Albus punched him hard on the shoulder. “Prat,” he said fondly.</p><p>“You love me though,” James replied with a snarky wink. Al punched him again for good measure before pulling him into a hug. “Yeah, I do.”</p><p>“Where is Scorpius?” James asked as they broke apart. “I thought he’d be here early with you.” </p><p>“Nah.” Albus shrugged in a poor attempt at nonchalance. “He’s still working on that thing with dad. He said he’d be late.” </p><p>James frowned. “Really? Seems like they could’ve taken a night off.” </p><p>“I guess not.” Albus shrugged, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “Scorp says it’s important.”</p><p>It was certainly strange, James thought, slightly stung. His dad and future brother-in-law knew how important the grand re-opening was to him and to Albus, who’d put a considerable amount of time into the project. He didn’t have time to ponder it now, though, so he made a mental note to talk to Albus about it later. Perhaps there was something James didn’t know about. </p><p>“Everything is prepped in the kitchen, boss.” </p><p>Martin came through the swinging door, followed by Hugo, who was already sampling the Tikka Masala. “How’s it going out here?”</p><p>“All set,” James said proudly. “Doors open in half an hour. You two will work the kitchen tonight while Albus and I man the bar. I don’t know how busy we’ll be, but even if it’s just my family, there will be a queue round the block.”</p><p>“Time to celebrate,” Al announced, producing a bottle of champagne. He summoned four glasses, handed them round and held up his own. <i>Soppy tosser</i>, James thought affectionately. </p><p>“Somehow my idiot brother managed to take a shite pub and turn it into something significantly less shitty,” Albus said with a taunting grin. He popped the top off the champagne bottle and filled everyone’s glasses. </p><p>“Cheers.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div>The house seemed to be unnaturally dark and silent. Betty had retired early, taking Flopsy, Mopsy and Cotton-tail with her. She must have been under the weather since she rarely went to sleep before the sun went down (unless it was a nap in the chair). He made a mental note to check on her every few hours.<p>John sat alone in the sitting room, absently turning his mobile in his hand. It hadn’t buzzed or lit up all day, and he suspected that it wouldn’t. Ella hadn’t kept her promise to text him; frankly, he wasn’t sure if he cared or not.</p><p>When the old grandfather clock in the corner struck seven, John felt a nervous tremor run down his spine. The doors to the Leaky Cauldron would be opening now.  </p><p>He’d been debating whether or not to go to the event all day. By now he was completely sure that not only had he once known James, but that they had been intimate to some degree—perhaps even boyfriends. So it begged the question: why hadn’t James tried to find him? A part of John desperately wanted answers, while another wanted to stay as far away from that pub as possible.</p><p>In the end, he decided to quell his morbid curiosity; at least for now. There was no way of knowing what would happen if he approached James. It would be reckless to do so with so little information about him. For all John knew, they could have had a nasty break-up and James was the one to shoot him! He couldn’t just walk up to his attempted murderer and say; <i>Hello, do I know you?</i></p><p>John glanced at the coffee table and noticed Betty’s newest issue of Entertainment Weekly. The cover displayed a pair of actors dressed in sleek superhero costumes. That’s what I’ll do, John thought. A movie would be the perfect distraction. He’d always wanted to go to the cinema. With that, he dressed in his nicest blue jumper, a pair of jeans and prepared to set out.</p><p>When he opened the door, he was startled to see both Chaz and Ella standing just outside the entrance.</p><p>“Oh, hey,” he said, stepping back a little with his surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you two tonight.”</p><p>“We meant to call,” Chaz said smoothly, in a voice that was very unlike his normal, carefree tone. “It must have slipped our minds.”</p><p>Ella smiled and pushed her way past John without a word. Before John could make sense of what was happening, Chaz pushed though as well and closed the door behind him.</p><p>“I didn’t realise you two knew each other,” John said. Utterly baffled, he followed them into the sitting room. “Is everything alright?”</p><p>Rather than answering, Chaz took a seat in Betty’s chair and pulled a long stick from his coat pocket. “Where were you headed this evening, John?” He asked. Once again, his voice sounded odd; deeper and lacking its usual flair.</p><p>“I… I was headed to the cinema,” John responded apprehensively. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something about this scenario was very, very wrong. </p><p>“The cinema,” Jasper echoed. “Hmmm… are you quite sure?”</p><p>“I…” Gooseflesh rose on John’s forearms as he looked between the two of them. It was definitely Chaz and Ella looking back at him, but something was… off. He now noticed that Chaz, who normally wore wild clothes with obnoxiously colourful patterns, was dressed in all black. A silver chain was hanging from his waistcoat and his long jacket reached down to his booted ankles. Ella’s hair was drawn up in a tight bun, her short red dress clinging to her body like a second layer of skin. She was also holding a thin stick, but hers was pointed directly at John’s chest like a weapon. In a moment of panicked delirium, John pictured them being bitten by vampires and transforming into mythic creatures of the night.</p><p>It was bizarre; chilling. Suddenly, John’s senses screamed at him to <i>run.</i></p><p>He didn’t run, though. His feet seemed incapable of moving at all.  </p><p>“Druella thought you might be planning to attend the re-opening of the Leaky Cauldron this evening.”</p><p>John’s mouth dropped open and he took an involuntary step backward. How could they have known that? He hadn’t mentioned The Leaky Cauldron to either of them.</p><p>“I think you’ll be more comfortable sitting down, Lupin.” </p><p>Suddenly, it felt as though the ground had been ripped from beneath his feet. John was lifted roughly into the air and dropped hard on the sofa. Thick ropes appeared out of thin air and twisted around his arms and legs, holding him firmly in place. John opened his mouth to shout, but no words came out; he was completely immobilized.</p><p>Chaz and Ella hadn’t moved from their seats across from him, both wearing similar expressions of mild amusement.</p><p>“I think we’ve frightened him, Jasper,” Ella remarked with a cold laugh.</p><p>“Oh dear,” Chaz replied, flashing John a sinister smile. “My apologies, Mr. Lupin. I’m afraid these… distasteful measures are quite necessary. We simply can’t have you running off to that pub. Someone is sure to recognise you.”</p><p>It felt like John’s brain had turned sideways in his head. Nothing about what they were saying, or how they were acting, made any sense. How had they managed to tie him up without moving? And why were they calling him Lupin?</p><p><i>The watch.</i>    </p><p>John glanced down at the battered watch on his wrist and thought about the engraving. The doctors told him that no one by that name had ever existed in Britain. And Chaz, well, Chaz had tried to convince him that it was worthless—a second-hand trinket.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” John mouthed. No sound came out. But Chaz (or whoever he was) seemed to comprehend him.</p><p>“Of course, you don’t,” he said casually. “We made sure of that. Although, I see no harm in enlightening you now. We’ll be here for a couple of days. Might as well pass the time.”</p><p>John didn’t have a clue what he meant. Although one thing was abundantly clear: whatever the two of them had planned wasn’t going to go well for him.</p><p>“Don’t you worry about Jones and those disgusting vermin,” Ella added. “They’ll sleep peacefully through the next 48 hours. Unless I accidently gave them too much of the potion.” She shrugged her shoulders flippantly. “In that case, they’ll all die.”</p><p>Dread plunged its cold fingers into John’s bones as he stared at Ella in horror.</p><p>“Allow me to officially introduce myself. My name is Jasper. My beautiful partner here is Druella. And you are Teddy Lupin…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter Fourteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Harry</b>
  </p>
</div>Harry had never been more in tune with his Patronus before. For the first time, it felt like they were working together, rather than the Patronus simply following a command. His stag was leading their makeshift convoy to a specific location—that much was clear—but it seemed to be doing so under his guidance.<p>It didn’t travel in a straight line. Rather, it zig-zagged, and changed its altitude based on the terrain. It also seemed to be making a conscious effort to avoid highly populated areas. Thus far, Draco only had to confund a half a dozen Muggles, and they hadn’t come across a single witch or wizard.</p><p>However, it soon became clear that the entire trip would not be quite so easy. They’d been travelling for an hour when Harry realised they were headed towards London.</p><p>Harry made a futile effort to direct his stag away from the city, but it steadied on, refusing to go around. Which could only mean one thing. London was their final destination.</p><p>This was, as Draco unnecessarily pointed out, a worst-case scenario.</p><p>They’d been so sure that Teddy was being held in a remote location. Somewhere desolate and unpopulated. Muggles and Wizardkind alike bustled through the busy streets day and night. There were very few places in the city where a bright Patronus as large as Harry’s could slip by unnoticed.</p><p>The night’s sky was as clear as Harry had ever seen it. Once the city lights came into view, he directed his stag upward. If they were careful, they could fly high enough to blend in with the stars. For the first time, Harry was grateful for light pollution.</p><p>All too soon though, the stag began to descend, ignoring his commands.</p><p>“The people below will be able to see us soon,” Scorpius called over the rushing wind. “What should we do?”</p><p>Harry reached into his pocket, careful not to look away from the stag, and pulled out an old pair of Omnioculars. “Take these,” he shouted, handing them to Scorpius blindly. Can you tell which street we are headed towards?”</p><p>Scorpius was quiet for a moment while he attempted to track their projection. “Mr Potter, I think we are headed towards Charing Cross Road.”</p><p>Harry’s heart sank as a mix of fear and disappointment washed over him. Charing Cross Road was the location of the Leaky Cauldron—where James, Albus, and Ginny were currently attending the re-opening. Something that had been in the back of Harry’s mind all night. </p><p>Was his stag simply taking him to family because he’d been thinking about them? Had they been wrong about everything? There was no conceivable way that Teddy was anywhere near Charing Cross Road. If he was, he’d have been found long ago. Surely...</p><p>“Wait,” Scorpius yelled out suddenly, interrupting Harry’s disparaging train of thought. “I’ve misjudged, I think we will be close to it, but we are clearly going too far North.”</p><p>Harry released a relieved breath. The pounding in his chest subsided somewhat. </p><p>“We’re nearly in view, Potter,” Draco said, flying up close. “What’s the plan?” </p><p>Disillusionment and invisibility charms had no effect on corporeal Patronuses. If Harry allowed the stag to descend any lower, he’d risk it being seen by hundreds of people; Wizards and Muggles alike. Even the Boy Who Lived couldn’t escape prosecution for that. There didn’t seem to be any way…</p><p>Then, a distant memory flashed through Harry’s mind.  </p><p>
  <i>"M-me?"</i><br/>
<i>"You, yes of course — Dora quite agrees, no one better —"</i><br/>
<i>"I — yeah — blimey —"</i>
</p><p>Harry had made a promise. A promise that he planned to keep, no matter the cost. He thought of Jamie, and how the light in his son’s eyes had been extinguished that fall day.</p><p>“I’m going in,” Harry asserted. “You two should get out of here now, before you’re seen.” </p><p>“You can’t steer the broom and keep sight of your Patronus at the same time, Mr Potter,” Scorpius argued. “I can’t go.” </p><p>“It’s too risky for you to stay.” From the corner of his eye, Harry could almost make out the top of the buildings below. “I’ll go alone. It will take the Ministry at least twenty minutes to respond, maybe longer. That gives me plenty of time to follow my stag to the ground. If Teddy is down there, I’ll find him.” </p><p>“Don’t be an idiot,” Draco snapped. “If they see your Patronus coming, Teddy is as good as dead. I have a better idea. Scorpius, we’re switching places. I’ll be steering Scarhead the rest of the way.” </p><p>Less than a minute later, Harry begrudgingly wrapped his free arm around Draco’s waist for support, doing his best to maintain focus. <i>We need to move quickly</i>, he thought, desperately hoping his Patronus would understand. </p><p>The stag lurched forward instantaneously, and Draco dropped the nose of the broom low. Within seconds, they were in freefall. Nearby, Harry could just make out Scorpius’ shout before a burst of fire and light erupted around them.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>John</b>
  </p>
</div><i>Chaos. Disorder. Confusion.</i> John was no stranger to bedlam. In fact, it was all he’d ever known. Yet nothing could have prepared him for Jasper’s fantastical tale.<p><i>Magic. Wizard. The son of a werewolf and a Metamorphmagus. A surrogate of the great Harry Potter.</i>

</p><p>It sounded like something out of a children’s fantasy novel… a story that would have been much more fascinating if John wasn’t tied to a sofa and at the mercy of two psychopaths whose <i>wands</i> seemed to be capable of just about anything. </p><p>“So you see, most of this ugliness could have been avoided if our partner hadn’t nearly killed you. It’s no matter now. He will be taken care of soon enough.”</p><p>John should have been afraid. He’d been kidnapped, nearly killed, and made to believe he was alone in the world just so his captors could get their hands on a pile of money he supposedly had. And although they hadn’t explicitly said it, he knew they planned to kill him after it was all over. Or wipe his memory again, which was effectively the same thing.</p><p>He wasn’t scared though. All he could think about was James. If what they were saying was true, and it certainly appeared to be, then it was possible that the flashes of memories he’d had about the man had been real. James hadn’t hurt him or abandoned him; he thought John was dead. Which explained why he’d been at a survivor’s support group in the first place. He was mourning John.</p><p><i>No</i>, he reminded himself lamentably, <i>James was mourning Teddy.</i> A person that no longer existed.</p><p>Jasper was still going on about Brody the ‘insufferable moron’ when a sudden knock at the door interrupted his rant. “All’s clear,” he called, not bothering to get up from his seat.</p><p>A moment later, a short, balding man with a wispy beard and shifty eyes entered the sitting room. He grinned at them, revealing a row of dark yellow teeth. “The message has been delivered. Our mutual partner will be here soon,” he said proudly. </p><p>“Good.” Jasper raised his wand and mumbled something John couldn’t hear. A flash of green light burst from his wand and Brody fell to the ground, the slimy grin still on his face. It happened so fast; the man hadn’t even seen it coming.</p><p>John stared down at the lifeless body, disgust rising in his throat like bile.</p><p>“You have no idea how good that felt,” Jasper sighed airily. “Don’t waste your time feeling sorry for him, Lupin. The only thing worse than bad guys like me are bad guys  with a low I.Q.”</p><p>Druella giggled, as if this was all some sort of hilarious joke. “I’ve been waiting a year and a half to witness that,” she laughed. </p><p>“Wotcher.” A deep, disembodied voice radiated around the room and Druella stopped laughing immediately. Jasper and Druella both stood and turned toward the door just as another person—covered in a long black cloak—crossed the threshold.</p><p>“There’s been a change of plans,” the newcomer declared, in lieu of introductions. “Kill him now.”</p><p>John’s entire body went rigid, as a burning wave of dread washed over him. This was it. It was all over. It didn’t matter who he was or who he had been before. He was going to die, here on Betty’s couch, for money he couldn’t even remember having.</p><p>Since he’d woken up from the coma, he believed he’d narrowly escaped death because of the money in his wallet. Even in his darkest moments, he’d been grateful for his narrow escape. Now, moments before his demise, the irony wasn’t lost on him.</p><p>John closed his eyes tight and waited for the inevitable.</p><p>“Are you certain?” He heard Jasper ask hesitantly. “What if Potter tries to take control of the estate before Monday?”</p><p>“Let me worry about that,” the cloaked man said.</p><p>“As you wish,” Jasper replied, with a chillingly calm tone. <i>“Avada Kedavra.”</i></p><p>Behind his lids, John could see a bright flash of light for a split second, before he heard another shout.</p><p>“Protego. Stupefy. Stupefy.” A woman screamed, followed by two loud thumps.</p><p>Then, nothing… nothing happened. </p><p>John opened his eyes slowly and gasped. The scene around him had completely changed. The cloaked figure was now gone and Jasper and Druella were on the floor, unmoving. There was a short, dark-haired woman smiling gently at him, holding the cloak at her side. There had never been a man. “Hello, Teddy. Do you remember me?”</p><p>At the gentle sound of her voice, a vision played in John’s mind. It was him and the woman practicing spells together in a large hall lined with mirrors. Suddenly, the scene changed and the two of them were having a pint with a group of others, all wearing the same type of robes...the ones John had been found in. Finally, the sequence ended with the woman holding a little boy up in front of a cake to blow out his birthday candles. </p><p>“Marion,” he recalled, relieved that his voice had returned. He couldn’t remember her fully, just as he couldn't fully remember James, but her presence evoked a sense of trust and safety within him. “We were partners... friends?”</p><p>“That’s right. Memories can come back in flashes when you see people you know,” she explained kindly. “Here, let me take care of those.” Marion waved her wand. The thick ropes that were twisted around his limbs vanished into thin air. </p><p>“T-thank you,” he croaked, rubbing the circulation back into his sore wrists.</p><p>“You’re welcome. It was quite unnecessary to restrain you. I would have expected Jasper to have more tact. I’m afraid you spooked them with that flyer of yours.”</p><p>At the mention of Jasper, John glanced over to where he and Druella were heaped on the floor. Even though he now knew they were never the people he’d thought they were, seeing them this way made his stomach tie into knots.</p><p>“They aren’t dead,” Marion clarified, sensing his unasked question. “I’ve only stunned them. I need them alive, you see. Their testimony will be important when they go before the Wizengamot for your kidnapping.”</p><p>John nodded gratefully, despite not knowing exactly what that meant. His head was beginning to ache like mad, and somehow, he was more confused than he’d ever been. But his questions could wait. “Betty,” he rasped out, moving to stand. “I need to make sure she’s alrigh—” </p><p>“That won’t be necessary,” Marion cut in, taking a step forward. “She’s perfectly fine.”</p><p>“Yes. But if I could just—”</p><p>Before John had a chance to react, Marion raised her wand and his knees buckled. He fell back to the sofa—much more gently this time. Marion’s kind expression morphed into one of mild disapproval. “I’d rather not use my wand on you, Teddy,” she said with a grim smile. “Please do as I say and there will be no further need for violence.”</p><p><i>Violence?</i> </p><p>It was as though the wind had been knocked out of his chest. John’s blood ran cold, his heart sank into the pit of his stomach as it dawned on him—Marion wasn’t here to rescue him. She was in on this somehow. </p><p>“What do you want from me?” he demanded, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “Just take the bloody money, if that’s what you’re after. I don’t want it.”</p><p>Marion smiled at him again, though it was strained. “It’s never been about your money, Ted,” she revealed. “It’s about you. You’re going to save my son.”</p><p>Once again, a memory flooded his mind. A small boy, sick and feeble, unable to get out of bed… paralysed. </p><p>“He can’t be helped,” John recalled. “There isn’t a magical cure for…for...”</p><p>“Spinal muscular atrophy,” Marion clarified. “And there is a magical cure. It’s you, Teddy, <i>you</i> are the cure.” </p><p>John swallowed hard over the lump in his throat. Little by little, memories were coming back to him. Yet none of it was rational. None of it made a bit of sense. Everything was jumbled, discombobulated. He couldn’t cure a sick boy, he couldn’t even remember his bloody name, for fuck's sake. <i>Teddy, Edward, Lupin, R.J., John…?</i>  </p><p>“I… I don’t know how.”</p><p>Marion’s eyes began to fill with tears and her watery smile grew wider. “I do,” she said calmly. “The cure is in your blood. I’ve done the research. I’ve worked the spells. I’ve found the solution. Your ability to regenerate, the combination of werewolf and Metamorphmagus DNA… Don’t you see?” </p><p>All John could see was a crazy lady, a dead man on the floor, and two people he thought he knew knocked out beside him. But if he could help this boy, and possibly save himself from this nightmare, he would do anything. </p><p>“You can have my blood,” he offered gently, desperately. “They took loads of it in hospital for testing. We can go there now and get a syringe.” </p><p>“No! It wouldn’t be enough!” Marion began to pace the room, clearly becoming agitated. “It has to be a full transfusion. There’s no other way. He’ll need all of it. You must understand.”</p><p>And then, like his torpid brain had finally put the perfervid pieces together, John did understand. </p><p>“You have to kill me to save him?” he asked rhetorically. </p><p>She stopped her pacing and turned to him, tears now running freely down her hollowed cheeks. John noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the tremblinging in her jaw. She was far too thin to be healthy, the lines in her face were much more pronounced then he remembered them being. Her entire demeanor reeked of desperation. </p><p>“There’s no other way,” she repeated feebly. </p><p>“Then why didn’t you just do it?” he urged, internally battling the oncoming hysteria. In some twisted way, he felt more frustrated than angry—and more than a little annoyed at the unnecessary theatrics of it all. “Why go through all of this… whatever the bloody hell this is?!” </p><p>Surely there were more pressing questions, but at the moment it was all that John could think of. If he had to die, why not make it quick? Why drag it out in this way? </p><p>“Someone had to take the fall,” she explained, gesturing towards Chaz and Ella. “When the Ministry collects them, their last memory will be of killing you. It’s been meticulously planned, down to the most minor details. No stone was left unturned.</p><p>“The MLE will believe they were after your money. The Wizengamot will look for their so-called ‘Ministry contact’, but they won’t find me. I’ve made sure that someone from every department is looking to cash in on your death—everyone has a motive. Jasper and Druella, being the fools that they are, never knew who I was. Only Brody did, and as you can see, he won’t be doing any talking.”</p><p>John shuttered. He looked back down at Brody’s lifeless body. Soon, he’d be there with him.</p><p>“I’m quite gifted with memory charms, but even I can’t fabricate memories entirely. Jasper needed to believe he’d killed you. He needed to cast the Unforgivable spell. Once the Aurors raid their minds and examine their wands, the trial will be over in a day. They’ll go to Azkaban and your body will be returned to your family, just in time for your gold to be claimed.</p><p>“I’m not <i>so</i> evil, Teddy. Harry will get to bury you beside your parents and keep your assets. You may not remember him, but he is a good man. I couldn’t deny him that.”</p><p>John listened to her speech without interruption, morbidly engrossed in it, even though he understood so little. Perhaps she wasn’t evil, but perhaps she was. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. She'd succeeded in her elaborate scheme—there was nothing he could do. He would die, Chaz and Ella would take the fall and her son would, presumably, be saved. </p><p>“How does it work?” he asked, feeling surprisingly composed. “The blood transfusion?”</p><p>“It won’t hurt,” she replied in a reassuring tone, as if this were some sort of courtesy. “The spell will replace his blood with yours, and he’ll—,” she choked a bit on her words, still overcome with emotion, “—he’ll walk.” </p><p>John wasn’t sure what it was; the despondency in her eyes, the dejected hopefulness, the sheer determination in her weepy voice. But in that moment, he sympathised with her wholly. He understood—on some primary level—her motivation, and it felt better knowing that his life wasn’t going to be lost to something so trivial as money. If he had to go, at least it would be in the service of a greater good. </p><p>“I don’t remember his name,” John said honestly, evenly. He still couldn't move, but he no longer had the desire to. His body had gone limp with defeat, there was no fight left in him. “I don’t remember anything. Please, let me remember. Before you...”  </p><p>He couldn’t complete the sentence. He didn’t need to. They both understood his plea. </p><p>Marion sat down on the sofa beside him. Her hands were shaking, clutching the wooden wand tightly. “I can cure your memory loss. If you truly want me to. Although it may be easier if I don’t. Are you sure you want to remember your life now? Just before...?”</p><p>John considered it. On the one hand, he could die without the memory, without the pain of losing those he couldn’t quite remember. On the other hand, it felt so deeply empty to go on without knowing what he was leaving behind. </p><p>In the end though, it was no decision at all. “James,” he breathed. His chest pinched painfully. He could hear the disembodied voice in his mind - the silly terrier nipping at his heels. “I need to remember James. <i>Please.</i>” </p><p>“If you’re sure.” </p><p>Marion raised her wand again, but her words were lost to an incoming surge of imagery. </p><p>
  <i>There was a baby, wiggling on his mother's chest, a thatch of auburn hair atop his overly large head. His tiny hand reached out to Teddy’s.</i><br/>
<i>“Teddy, meet James.”</i><br/>
<i>Teddy scrunched his nose in boyish, callow disapproval. “He’s all wrinkly.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>An old lady—his Gran—clutched him closely by her side as she pointed out pictures in an old, battered photo album. “Dora was just as mischievous as you are. Her hair is pink in this photo, but it turned bright green right after Grandpa Ted snapped the picture.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Hufflepuff!” the hat shouted, the sound reverberating across the Great Hall. His small legs felt weak with fear, but he clutched his new wand tightly in hand and walked to the table that Nev— Professor Longbottom pointed towards. He hadn’t been sure where he would be placed. His dad had been a Gryffindor and his Gran a Slytherin, but it seemed he would follow his mum into Hufflepuff.</i><br/>
<i>I thought I was brave, Teddy wrote, in a frantic letter to his godfather. But the hat didn’t put me in Gryffindor! Please, Uncle Harry. Tell them to switch me over!<br/>
Your mother was one of the bravest women I’ve ever known, Harry had written back. Hufflepuff is lucky to have you in it!</i><br/>
</p><p>Several more years pass.</p><p>
  <i>“Your father kept loads of journals,” Harry said with a chuckle. “You're old enough to read them now if you'd like. But don’t go replicating any of those Marauder pranks. Your Gran will skin me alive.” </i>
</p><p><i>“I don’t want you to leave again.” Jamie stood beside him on the platform, small and sad, clutching Teddy’s hand anxiously. “Mum and Dad said I can’t go yet.” Teddy was in fourth-year now, and although he adored his tag-along godbrother, he wasn’t paying any attention to him. Victoire, who was saying goodbye to her parents, kept glancing his way with a pretty, shy smile.</i>  </p><p>The memories rushed in so rapidly that John… no, <i>Teddy</i>, felt sick. If there was anything in his stomach, he felt certain it would have come up. But it didn’t, and the memories peristested. </p><p><i>“What professions are you interested in, Mr Lupin?” Professor Sprout asked winsomely, pushing forward a tin of iced biscuits. “With your marks, I daresay you could go anywhere.”</i><br/>
<i>“I’ll be an Auror,” Teddy replied matter-of-factly. “Like my mum and Harry.” </i><br/>
<i>Sprout’s smile strained, and the silly, forever earth-smudged hat she always wore slipped to one side. It looked ridiculous and Teddy wanted to laugh, but he was incapable of being rude to the endearingly offbeat old woman.</i><br/>
<i>“Are you quite sure, Teddy? Your father was one of the best DADA professors I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. You’d make a fine educator yourself; or even a Healer, I daresay. Perhaps you should consider—”</i><br/>
<i>He stopped her there, with a wave of his hand. He’d never considered anything else. </i></p><p>More snippets of his Hogwarts years flashed by, most of them including Vic—his beautiful girlfriend, his best friend. But then the adolecent memories faded away into the beginnings of adulthood; strenuous Auror training, a harrowing breakup, and years spent trying to figure himself out again.  </p><p>Until...</p><p><i>Pink, youthful lips brushed unexpectedly across his own much older, stubbled jaw—hazel eyes staring back at him hopefully—the fear that settled into his gut when he saw Jamie differently for the first time. The bastardous little flirt who seemed intent on embarrassing Teddy into an early grave—Teddy refusing to admit to himself that he basked in the attention… just a little bit.</i> </p><p>He’d fallen in love with Jamie slowly. Almost maddengly slow, he now realised. Bit by bit, day by day. Jamie’s constant, all-consuming presence had led him to that inevitable end. The end of the beginning.</p><p>
  <i>Nervous hesitation, a quiet hopefulness, Jamie abruptly tackling him to the floor… a first kiss followed by teasing laughter. </i>
</p><p>There was nothing and everything imperfect about James. The inexplicably idyllic blend of humor, charm and self assurance that radiated from him… the unfiltered, unabashed adoration in his eyes when James looked at him. </p><p>Even when he’d finally accepted that his irrefutable affection for Jamie had become romantic, Teddy had still felt ashamed of the lust that Jamie evoked within him. </p><p><i>“Tomorrow will be the tenth date,” Jamie breathed into the shell of his ear, causing a shiver to run down his body and straight to his neglected cock.</i><br/>
<i>Fucking hell, he didn’t need reminding. It was all he’d been able to think about for a month. Inwardly, Teddy struggled to find a word for how simultaneously terrified and excited he was about the thought of finally having Jamie in his bed.</i><br/>
<i>What would they do? How far would they go? Would it be as mind-blowing as he’d imagined it would be? Or would it be awkward and tense? If their kissing was anything to go by, Teddy didn’t think he needed to worry much about it...</i>  </p><p>It was like an electric shock to the system as Teddy remembered. His body jerked violently, his hands shook and a despairing need to see his family seemed to pour from him like a bleeding wound. </p><p>
  <i>“Jamie.”</i>
</p><p>Distantly, he registered that his mouth had moved, a sound ripping out of him in a desperate call.</p><p>"I know you love him, Ted.” Marion’s voice broke through the rapid cascade of recollections—forcing him violently back into reality. His legs were still immobilised and he sat helplessly on the sofa. His impending death was feeling much more real than it had just a few minutes ago. </p><p>“You would do anything to save him, just as I would do anything to save John.”</p><p>She wasn’t talking about him. He knew that now. She was referring to the real John; her ailing son. It was merely a sick coincidence it had also been the name given to him in Hospital.</p><p>“For what little it’s worth, I’m truly sorry that it had to come to this.”</p><p>Teddy thought he might have understood to a degree. If she succeeded in her plan to drain him of his blood—<i>of his life</i>—he wouldn’t fault her. It occurred to him that despite her betrayal, only eternal, all-consuming love could be so powerful as to drive a good person to commit such an evil act. </p><p>He might have asked himself whether or not he’d be willing to do the same for James. Or even for Harry or Gran. If he’d had the choice, would he be capable of taking a life to bring his parents back? </p><p>Fortunately, he didn’t have the time to contemplate any of this because her apology was drowned out by a resounding <i>bang</i> and the chaos that ensued...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter Fifteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Harry</b>
  </p>
</div>Harry’s stag darted downward, antlers pointed sharply ahead like the pen of a compass.<p>The fireworks that Scorpius had set off brightened the sky around him and pounded so loudly into his eardrums that he thought he might have gone momentarily deaf. But that was the least of Harry’s worries. </p><p>Amidst the insanity of the moment—the sheer delirium that came with clutching on to Draco Malfoy’s slim waist as they fell to their inevitable deaths—Harry thought back to his first year at Hogwarts. He thought about the Remembrall incident.</p><p>Draco—in all of his faults—had always been able to handle a broomstick. He wouldn’t send them surging head first into the pavement below, Harry reminded himself. He knew what he was doing, and at the very least, he wasn’t pompus enough to take Harry out at his own expensense... probably.  </p><p>He trusted Malfoy to get them safely to ground. What he didn’t trust was what they might find when they got there. </p><p>This was the part they couldn’t predict. The part they couldn’t plan for. Harry may have been lucky as a kid, but he’d spent his life making sure that luck would never be a factor again. Now, he and his wand were a force to be reckoned with. </p><p>“It’s going towards an old house,” Malfoy shouted, as their descent slowed. “I’m not detecting any magical boundaries.” </p><p>Harry’s heart sunk, because Draco was right. They landed 100 feet away from an old brick house in the centre of a mostly vacant London street. There wasn’t a single ward. Lights shined through several windows, televisions flickered, and the muted sounds of Saturday night dinners wafted through the walls of surrounding homes. </p><p>“This is it, Scarface. Look alive.” </p><p>Harry wrenched his eyes away from his stag—that immediately disappeared through the closed door—and turned to Draco in disbelief. </p><p>“H-here?” It was impossible. The house couldn’t have been more unprotected or unassuming. “<i>Homenum Revelio.</i>”</p><p>“Four alive detected inside. What’s the plan?”</p><p>“Stun on sight,” Harry asserted. “Don’t take any chances.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Teddy</b>
  </p>
</div>It was as if someone had flipped an invisible switch. Time slowed. A massive stag, Harry’s stag, bursted through the wall and landed on the small table between them. It bowed to Teddy. Not a second passed before the door was blown off its hinges, blasting into the sitting room and landing directly on top of Brody’s lifeless body.<p>Marion jumped to her feet, casting a <i>Protego</i> just as Harry and Draco Malfoy rounded the corner, their wands raised. </p><p>Stunning spells began bouncing off of the shield, ricocheting dangerously across the room. The scratching post in the corner exploded and a pile of Betty’s old magazines were lifted into the air and were torn, sending sheds of paper cascading down like confetti. A large splinter of wood shot into Teddy’s calf, sending a jolt of pain up his leg. </p><p>Teddy reached down instinctively, covering the wound with his hands to stop the bleeding. It was then that he realised he was no longer immobilised. </p><p>Tearing his eyes away from the fight in front of him, Teddy looked over and saw Chaz and Ella beginning to wake up, matching expressions of confusion and alarm evident on their faces.</p><p>In Marion’s effort to maintain her shield against Harry and Draco’s attacks, her previous spells had weakened. </p><p>Without thinking, Teddy launched himself onto the floor and crawled beneath the broken door where Brody’s body still laid. He fumbled blindly with the man’s robes until he felt a wand, still holstered in his belt. </p><p>Teddy held on to it as tightly as he could, and Apparated. He wrapped his arms around Betty’s limp body and Apparated again.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>James couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face as his cousin Louis took to the stage. His long, blond ponytail was slung across his shoulder, accentuating his impossibly attractive presence.<p>Most of the women and some of the men in the pub flocked towards him like moths to a flame as he began to sing, holding the microphone seductively close to his lips. As it turned out, having a part Veela man who revelled in unabashed attention singing karaoke in his pub was going to be a gold mine. </p><p>James laughed out loud, nudging Albus on the shoulder to make sure he wasn’t missing the spectacle as they manned the busy bar, doling out drinks to the massive crowd that surrounded them.</p><p>Albus poured another row of shots for a group of giggling girls and shrugged with amusement, an ‘<i>I told you so</i>’ look on his smug face.</p><p>“Keep this up and you won’t be forced to marry into money for comfort like poor, little ol’ me,” Albus quipped, feigning a woebegone expression. “You’ll make your own money. I’ll waste away from envy at Malfoy Manor, as the elves serve me beef wellington and finely aged port in bed, suffering from endless, mind-blowing orgasms provided by my gorgeous husband.”</p><p>James snorted. This had become a private joke between the two of them in the past few weeks; Albus marrying into unimaginable wealth while James slummed it in his old pub.</p><p>“So it has always been about the gold then?” James returned teasingly. “It all makes sense now—”</p><p>
  <i>Crack.</i>
</p><p>The joke died on Jamie’s tongue. He reached for his wand instinctively. Louis’ enchanting melody ceased abruptly and the crowd started shambling into the outskirts of the pub, leaving a wide berth in the middle. Several people screamed, most had their wands drawn, but James couldn’t quite see what was causing the sudden disarray. </p><p>“Is she dead?” one of the patrons shouted. </p><p>“I don’t know, they just appeared,” came another panicked response. “That one’s bleeding.” </p><p>James quickly hopped over the bar, and pushed his way through the cluster of bodies. The very last thing he needed on opening night was a couple of drunkards causing a scene. If he didn’t get this taken care of ASAP, the &lt;<i>Prophet</i> would have a field day. </p><p>“Move aside,” he called, hoping his voice projected enough authority to reassure the crowd. “I’m taking care of it. Nothing to see here.”</p><p>James could never have imagined how very wrong he was. When he finally made his way through, the sight he was met with caused his blood to run cold. </p><p>There was an old woman on the floor in her nightgown. She was either stunned, knocked out or dead, he couldn’t be sure. A younger man hunched over her, holding on to her limp body. Sparks of uncontrolled magic were igniting the man’s skin, just so that he couldn’t quite see them, but he felt the raw power emitting from the man. </p><p>James stopped dead, his muscles frozen with shock. This wasn’t an alcohol-induced scuffle between two rival Quidditch fans. Something had gone incredibly wrong. The invisible orb of defensive magic surrounding them was impenetrable. </p><p>He’d never felt magic so intense before, and there was something eerily familiar about it. </p><p>The man’s face was still obscured from view, hunched down low in an awkward position, but when he <i>spoke</i>—voice grappled and hoarse—James heard <i>him.</i></p><p>He heard Teddy say, “Jamie, please, help Betty.”</p><p>With a loud pop, Teddy was gone again, leaving the fragile old lady behind on the floor.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Teddy</b>
  </p>
</div>Finding himself back on the street in front of Betty’s house, Teddy could hear the battle still raging inside.<p>The wand in his hand was sending dangerous sparks towards the ground. He was buzzing with it—the excess magic that had taken over him when he’d been released from Marion’s bind. Repressed power was flooding through his veins and out of his body like turpentine. Which was, presumably, how he’d managed to Apparate Betty out of there so easily despite not having performed proper magic in so long and using a dead man’s wand. </p><p>Wandlore was tricky, but with the way Teddy was currently feeling, he reckoned he’d be able to cast spells through a plastic bottle if he tried—and he had to try. Harry and Draco were skilled, but so was Marion, and if Jasper and Druella had joined the fight, they were outnumbered. </p><p>Quick on his feet despite his injured leg, Teddy sprinted inside and witnessed a standstill. </p><p>Harry and Draco were still firing spells at Marion’s shield, which had yet to deteriorate from the onslaught of powerful stunning spells hitting it. Jasper lay a few feet away from where he had been when Teddy left, motionless again, but Druella stood behind the shield as well, attempting to crucify Harry and Draco in turn. It was clear that her heart wasn’t truly into it though, as the unpracticed spells were easily deflected. </p><p>No one seemed to notice that Teddy had rejoined them, which was just as well. Marion’s shield had weakened just enough. Teddy’s power had reached a nearly unmanageable level. If he aimed it just right, it would only take one…</p><p>“<i>Stupefy</i>,” he cried, pointing Brody’s wand between Harry and Draco, and directly at Marion’s chest.</p><p>The effect was instantaneous. Marion’s shield gave way. She flew backwards, her small body crashing into the wall. </p><p>Her fearful, tear streaked expression going blank was the last thing that Teddy saw before he collapsed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter Sixteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>James</b>
  </p>
</div>Teddy looked peaceful as he laid there, unmoving, on the stark white hospital bed. His light brown hair fanned over the pillow, his dark lashes closed over soft, pale cheeks. He was unguarded underneath the bright, fluorescent hospital lighting. This was Teddy’s true form, the way he looked on those rare occasions when he felt free enough to let his guard down.<p>Not everything was the same though. A deep, rigid scar was now slashed across the right side of Teddy’ temple. He was thinner. His hair was cut in a different style. There were thin lines under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. </p><p>He was beautiful. He was different... </p><p>James’ chest ached. He was different now, too. Nothing would ever be the same again.</p><p>The door to the placid hospital room opened and shut softly behind him. James sat straighter, but didn’t bother to look up. He recognised the magical presence.</p><p>“How is the old woman?” he asked, for lack of a better question. He didn’t think he was capable of anything more meaningful just yet. </p><p>Harry shuffled forward and laid a comforting hand on James’ shoulder. “A clean bill of health,” he confirmed. </p><p>James nodded. “That’s good,” he managed weakly. The news was somewhat soothing. She’d been important to Teddy, that much had been clear. When he woke, he’d be happy to hear that she was doing well. </p><p>“Will they obliviate her?” </p><p>“They can’t.” Harry sighed as he sat down in a plastic chair beside James. “She had her memory modified at least a dozen times. At this point, it’s unsafe to alter her brain any further. The Healers were forced to lift the charms that were previously placed on her.”  </p><p>James looked up and into his father’s tortured eyes. “Was it that bad for her?” He didn’t really want to know, but he needed to hear it. He needed to hear all of it. </p><p>Harry shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted grimly. “Betty remembers the… the things that Jasper put her through. But she’s in relatively good spirits. I don’t think she’ll give the medical staff a moment of peace until she’s able to see him.” Harry paused, a ghost of a laugh escaping his lips. “She’s still calling him John. She reckons that she’s his rightful next of kin, and is therefore entitled to bi-hourly updates on his condition.” </p><p>For the first time in hours, James felt a smile tugging at his lips. </p><p>He squeezed Teddy’s limp hand beneath the stiff hospital sheets. The Healers had said that Teddy was unlikely to wake for several more hours. The long-term suppression of his magic had turned him into a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode. Now that he had, it could take weeks of rest to restore his magic to it’s former strength. </p><p>“What will happen to the people who did this?” James had heard part of the story, but there was a lot they still didn’t know. Some of which they might not ever fully understand. </p><p>“I can’t say for sure.” Harry admitted. “I won’t have any say in it now.” James noted that his father sounded tired, but there was no regret in his tone. “Between the two of us, I have it on good authority that Jasper and Druella are singing like canaries. It will be a short investigation.” </p><p>“And Marion?” James cringed a little. She’d been Teddy's friend, and one of Harry’s favourite recruits. Nobody could have foreseen this. </p><p>Harry frowned, running his hand along the five o'clock shadow on his chin. “She’ll get some time in Azkaban for being the mastermind behind the operation, but my experience tells me that the Wizengamot is likely to go easy on her.” He paused for a moment, as if it was almost too draining to go on. James said nothing. They both knew it wasn’t fair. The Wizarding justice system was flawed, and now that Harry was no longer the head of the MLE, he wouldn't be involved in the prosecution.  </p><p>James nodded, clearing the emotion from his throat. It was the best they could hope for. At the end of the day, all that really mattered now was Teddy’s recovery. </p><p>“You know, as your father, I’m obligated to tell you that you should go home and get some sleep.” Harry nugged James’ shoulder lightly. “I know that you can’t, thought. So I won’t ask.” </p><p>James attempted to nudge his dad back gratefully, but as exhausted he was, he ended up dropping his head onto the older man's shoulder. </p><p>“Thanks,” James mumbled. </p><p>Harry wrapped an arm around James and held him close. The silence that ensued was comfortable. It held the promise of new beginnings… for the first time in a long time, there was genuine hope.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Harry</b>
  </p>
</div>Eventually, James did succumb to sleep, falling into an awkward slump at the end of the bed. Harry watched him for a while, doing his best not to nod off as well. It had been an exhausting twelve hours since they’d arrived at hospital.<p>It took the Healers nearly an hour to stabilise Teddy, during which time James cried, shouted at Harry and Scorpius for leaving him out of the loop, shouted at Albus for defending his fiancé, gave a teary apology, and then cried some more. It had been a task keeping him away while the Healers worked their magic. Ginny’s calm reassurance was the only thing that prevented him from smashing down the door to Teddy’s room. When they were finally allowed to see Teddy, James was so emotionally exhausted that he simply sat down beside the bed, took Teddy’s slack hand, and refused to budge, staring at Teddy as though he were looking at an apparition.</p><p>Harry's heart clenched painfully in his chest at the realisation that his sons' anguish was far from over. Teddy was safe, he was home, he would wake at any moment. It was a miracle. But Harry knew well that some scars never fully heal. </p>
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  <p>
    <b>-</b>
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</div><p>“Draco has been released.” Ginny entered the room with a slightly exasperated expression. “Albus and Scorpius are taking him back to the Manor to rest. I believe his Healers are having a celebratory drink in the tearoom.” </p><p>Harry chuckled. Teddy’s stunning spell had been too much for the integrity of Betty Jones’ brick and plaster home. Half of it came down in a pile of rubble, leaving Draco with a mild concussion, several nasty abrasions, and a stubborn case of denial. (“I am perfectly fine! Just what are you planning to poke me with? Where did you receive your Healing certification, Knockturn Alley?”) It was no surprise that the staff were happy to see the back of him.</p><p>“I’m not sure that rest will be enough to cure what ails Draco Malfoy,” Harry quipped.  </p><p>Ginny scrunched her nose endearingly. “You need something to eat. Let’s take a walk,” she suggested, gesturing towards James, “He will be okay for a while.”</p><p>They shared a meaningful look, and Harry knew that she wasn't just talking about this moment. </p><p>“Yeah,” Harry replied gratefully, taking her outstretched hand.</p>
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  <p>
    <b>Teddy</b>
  </p>
</div>The light was painfully bright behind John’s tightly closed eyes, seeming to burn straight through his lids and directly into his pounding skull. His lips were dry and his tongue felt unusually heavy, as though his mouth had been filled with chalk. He felt… hungover? Like he was waking up from a binge that he couldn’t quite recall the details of.<p>When he managed to pry his eyes open, he quickly realised he wasn’t in his own bed. He was back at the Maudsley. His heart began to beat faster, panic settling into his gut when...</p><p><i>No.</i> 

</p><p>He wasn’t at the Maudsley. The floating objects around him weren’t Muggle machinery. They were magical monitoring tools. He was at St Mungo’s… and he wasn’t John. He never had been. </p><p>Teddy sat up slowly, doing his best to ignore the pain shooting through his limbs. His stomach fluttered when he saw James, asleep at the end of his bed. </p><p>It took him several minutes to put the pieces together in his mind. His memories were still somewhat jumbled, but one thing was vividly clear… The love he felt for the man slumped over his feet washed over him like a warm, calming wave.  </p><p>“Jamie?” </p><p>Teddy spoke quietly, afraid that he was in some sort of dreamworld. One that he could wake from at any moment. He didn’t know if he could trust what he was seeing, or anything for that matter. </p><p>“Jamie?” he said again, raising his voice only slightly. James sniffled in his sleep, but didn’t wake. </p><p>A lump of anxiety rose in Teddy’s throat. What if James was just another figment of his imagination, a manifestation of his addled brain? </p><p>Teddy closed his eyes and whispered to himself. <i>‘It’s not real.’</i> When he opened them again, James snored and mumbled something unintelligible. A bit of drool escaped the corner of his mouth. </p><p>Teddy had the sudden urge to laugh when a particularly obscure memory came to mind. </p><p>
  <i>‘Can Teds sleep in my room tonight? Pleeease?’Jamie pleaded, tugging at Harry’s trouser leg. I won’t drool again.’</i>
</p><p>James had been four or five, and had taken to following Teddy around like a puppy whenever he came for a visit. He was too young to realise how annoying it was. </p><p><i>‘I think Teddy would rather sleep in his own room,” Harry replied with a kind smile. ‘He’s a big boy now. He needs his own space.’</i> </p><p>James had promptly burst into tears, unconsoled by Harry’s soothing words and gentle pat on the back. He didn’t calm down until Teddy suggested they build a blanket fort together and kip in the sitting room. </p><p>Despite the pounding ache in his temples, Teddy chuckled. He’d always given in to Jamie eventually. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Because he loved him more than anything else in the world. </p><p>Teddy called James once again, but this time, he didn’t whisper. “Jamie, wake the fuck up, you tosser!” </p><p>James sprang up from his stupor so fast that he almost toppled out of his chair. Teddy laughed. “After a year and a half, I sort of expected a better greeting. Instead I find you spittling on my bed sheets.”</p><p>It was almost comical, the way James’ eyes momentarily widened with surprise. But the humour was lost quickly when James launched himself on top of Teddy (expelling the breath from his lungs) and began to sob uncontrollably into his shoulder. </p><p>It was nothing like the petulant tears of Jamie’s youth. These were the tears of a man who’d been wrecked, torn to shreds with overwhelming grief. Jamie’s nails dug painfully into Teddy’s skin as he cried, muttering a string of pieced together sentences. </p><p>Teddy held James just as tight, his whole world narrowing into their embrace. Jamie’s hazel eyes were red rimmed and disbelieving. There was an underlying hint of fear that had never been there before. It fully occurred to Teddy that while he’d been unaware of who he was, muddling through his days like a ghost, James had spent that time in mourning, believing that he'd lost Teddy forever. </p><p>He couldn’t imagine how unbearable that must have been. The very idea of losing Jamie tore at Teddy’s insides like a severed blade. </p><p>“I’m so sorry, Jamie,” Teddy choked. </p><p>Their words blurred together, punctured by wet, uncoordinated kisses.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I’ve missed you so much.”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>“I love you too.”</p><p>Teddy had no way of knowing how long they laid there together, holding on to one another like their lives depended on it. It seemed like a lifetime passed before he and James calmed down enough to breathe normally. Teddy suspected that one of the Healers had cast a spell on them from the door, but he was oddly at peace with that. The magic tingling on his skin was comforting and not at all anxiety inducing like it had been before his memories returned. </p><p>Teddy felt truly at ease. He pulled the duvet over the two of them and snuggled James close. James dropped his head onto the pillow so that they were eye to eye, limbs tangled comfortably beneath the sheets. </p><p>“I’ll never let you go again,” he promised.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Epilogue</b>
  </p>
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<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Teddy</b>
  </p>
</div>“I don’t think that boy witnessed very much of his brother’s wedding,” Betty said, as she guided Teddy around the dancefloor in a waltz. “Couldn’t stop looking at you during the ceremony.”<p>Teddy glanced over at Jamie. Their eyes met immediately, proving Betty’s point. Teddy blushed.</p><p>“I can’t say I blame him,” she continued with a cheeky smile. “Lilac suits you.” </p><p>Teddy was gearing up to dispute her claim when a voice beside them made him turn. </p><p>“May I cut in?” James gave a shy smile. </p><p>“Oh yes. One dance is plenty for a woman of my age, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’m going to ask that nice young man George to show me more of his little tricks.” She winked at Teddy before skirting off.</p><p>They both laughed as Teddy wrapped his arms around James’ waist and pulled him close. </p><p>Teddy couldn’t begin to describe how <i>amazing</i> it felt to be laughing like this with James. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. After months of everything being alien and difficult, he was finally home. He was finally feeling the warmth of belonging, and more than anything, the love he hadn’t even known he was missing.</p><p>When their giggles had faded to fond grins, Teddy began to sway in time with the band’s music.</p><p>“She seems to be fitting in well,” James observed fondly. “I’m glad.” There was a warmth in his tone that gripped at Teddy's heart. </p><p>Betty, who was now living in Andromeda’s old home for the last month (Teddy had gifted it to her after he accidently blew hers up), had been allowed to attend Albus and Scorpius’ magical wedding on the grounds that she was as good as family now.</p><p>“So, did you enjoy the ceremony Jamie?” Teddy smirked as his boyfriend let out a dramatic groan.</p><p>“That was the most mawkish thing I’ve ever seen in my life?” He whined, burying his face in Teddy’s shoulder. “Gran is still weeping. Please tell me our wedding won’t be like that.” </p><p>“Oh, ours will be ten times as mushy! I already have a ten verse serenade planned, which I will sing on my knees before you,” Teddy gleefully told him, making James jerk his head back up to gasp in mock-horror.</p><p>“You wouldn’t!”</p><p>For a second, they locked eyes, their banter still hanging between them like the buzz of a familiar spell. But then James’ expression changed and Teddy felt the energy shift.</p><p>James reached out to tuck a wayward strand of Teddy’s hair behind his ear. “You know, technically this counts as a date,” he said. In an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty, James pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and his eyebrows drew together in a light frown. When he spoke, it was quieter and more nervous than Teddy had ever heard James before. “Our tenth, to be exact.”</p><p>The last month had been hectic. What with Teddy recovering in hospital, re-entering wizarding society, and staying with the Potter’s while he shopped for a new flat to rent—not to mention the constant influx of family and friends stopping by to see him—he and James had only had a few brief stints of alone time, which they’d mostly spent filling each other in on the last year and a half. </p><p>They’d shared plenty of soft kisses and held hands often, but the subject of resuming their relationship properly hadn’t come up until a week ago, when Teddy asked Jamie to be his date for the wedding.</p><p>“I don’t know, Jamie,” Teddy teased. “I think we might need to restart the clock.” </p><p>James pulled back from their embrace, his mouth falling open indignantly. “B-but, I mean,” he sputtered. “You said!”</p><p>Teddy hugged James tightly, laughing into his shoulder. “I know. I know, Jamie. I was kidding.” His voice dropped low and sultry. “I have no intention of making you wait again.”</p><p>James' breath caught audibly in his throat. “Oh… right. Good. Because I bought you some things for my flat. A toothbrush, and a pillow of your own. I was hoping you might want to stay the night… with me. Tonight.”</p><p>“Fuck, yes,” Teddy groaned, his body tingling with excitement as he imagined all the things he wanted to do to James.</p><p>They let the music guide their movements as they held each other close, gently letting their feet keep pace with the beat of the slow ballad. If there was anyone else on the dancefloor, neither James or Teddy were aware of them.</p><p>When the song ended and a faster one started up, Teddy regretfully loosened his hold on James, just enough so he could look at his beautiful face. He reached out and ran his finger down James’ forehead, smoothing away the vulnerable frown line between his brows. He let his hand cup James’ cheek in a gentle caress, his thumb stroking his skin in what he hoped was a reassuring way.</p><p>A sly smile crept across Teddy’s face. “You know, I think we could sneak away now? No one will notice us. Not with the disgustingly happy couple floating around like a couple of love sick tossers and Draco Malfoy pretending not to cry into his champagne flute.”</p><p>James laughed, but unfortunately, so did Albus, Scorpuis and Lily who had all suddenly appeared. “Leaving so soon?” Lily cackled, sounding as if Christmas had come early while they all watched James’ face turn the colour of a beetroot. “I wonder what could be so pressing?” </p><p>Surprisingly, Albus stopped laughing very quickly, and was now giving James and Teddy a suspiciously watery smile. “You guys… I’m so happy you were here, Teddy. It wouldn’t have been the same without you. But, if you want to... escape, me and my husband can cover for you.” The pair of them made doe eyes at each other as Albus said the word ‘husband’.</p><p>It had been a spectacular wedding despite the lilac colour scheme, something which Teddy assumed had been due to both Draco and Scorpius’ involvement. If there was one positive of his year of being kidnapped and having his memory erased, it was that he’d avoided all the wedding plans.</p><p>As Albus and Scorpius led a still-protesting Lily away, Teddy turned back to James, who looked nervous again. “Are you sure about this, love? I want to, bloody hell, you know I do. But we can wait.”</p><p>James let out a squawk. “Wait?! Teddy, I waited 5 years for you to notice me and then when you finally agreed to have sex with me, you disappeared for a year and a half! If you think I’m letting you out of my sight before we’ve had a thorough fucking, you’ve got another thing coming!” he exclaimed with all the James-y confidence Teddy knew and loved. Though he quickly added, “So long as you’re okay with that?”</p><p>Teddy nodded vigorously. “Definitely...”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This work is part of HP Next Gen Fest 2020. The creator will be revealed at the end of November.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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